


The After; The Athar

by PhantasmaDormi



Series: Mianite [26]
Category: Fan-Mianite Season 3, Mianite (Fandom), Mianite - Fandom, Mianite Fandom, The Realm of Mianite (Fandom), The Realm of Mianite Fandom, the realm of mianite
Genre: Beta Read, Breaking up a Relationship, Depression, Implied Character with Depression, Implied Character with PTSD, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Mecha!Dianite Tom, Multi, Not Mianitian Isles Compliant, PTSD, Post Season 2, Realm of Mianite, Slow Burn, canon character death, cross posted to tumblr, self deprecation, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantasmaDormi/pseuds/PhantasmaDormi
Summary: Post Season 2, non-Mianitian Compliant.The crew finally land back into the world after the events of Ruxomar. That should be a good thing, right? But Wag is feeling the burden of everything that has happened to him, and he didn’t even get his magic back to boot.It’s hard to be happy when life has been so shitty.
Relationships: James Hayes | Waglington/ Jordan Maron | Captain Sparklez, James Hayes | Waglington/Martha Conway | Martha the Mystic (past), James Hayes/Jordan Maron, James Hayes/Martha the Mystic, Lord Dianite/Mot_Screziato (Mianite), Spark Conway/Lady Ianite (past), Waglington/Captain Sparklez, Waglington/Martha the Mystic
Series: Mianite [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678990
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started working on this on September of last year when one of my friends was talking about owning the Sparklington tag on tumblr. I, of course, rose to the challenge. This was also started before Mianitian Isles, otherwise it'd look a good bit different (what with Jordan and Tom getting chucked into the past).

They’d made it home a couple weeks ago, to the land of Mianite. It’d been such a relief. They got to meet the rest of the alts, got to watch Dianite meet the other gods- and cringe at the tension that crackled between them- got to find all their homes again. For once, in the past-however-long, there was peace. They could relax.

So why did Wag feel like utter shit?

Right. Because he literally got the worst part of the deal.

He thought his powers would come back when they got home. And they did, for a few hours. Not the full range, but a lot of it. It felt good to be full of magic again. It felt like he was  _ himself _ .

But then things started to fall apart. Martha grew distant. His powers fell away in fits and bursts. He realized that the rest of FyreUK had moved on after they made amends in Ruxomar. They found their way on. Without him.

Nothing was the same, he realized, as he spent more time around the place they had called ‘home.’

Spark had done what he did best: built a city. Well, more like a village. What had once been a place of buildings thrown about at random and mostly open plains was now sparsely populated. Neatly arranged shops and a few houses took up the space next to the beach. New people had even begun to show up.

Everything was changing around him, yet he was stuck holding onto the past. Holding onto his wizardhood, to his brotherhood, to a partner that was farther now than ever, and- worst of all- he was still holding onto the hope that everything would just… go back. To how it was.

To when he was important.

Well, like fuck is he was going to sit around and loathe his existence. He could at least  _ try  _ to do something. Swear to Athar, he wasn’t going to turn into a lump of depression just because he couldn’t handle change! He’d rather be a walking mass of depression! That way he could at least pretend he was being productive.

Potions or spellbooks? A question as old as time. Potions were a staple in his life. If there was one thing that would never leave him, it was his ability to make fucking potions. Like, fucking  _ make _ potions. Not potions to help people fuck. On the other hand, the more he poured through spellbooks, the more likely he was to get closer to finding out how to get his powers back.

Maybe his powers left when FyreUK left, taking all the glory of Athar with it. But that was too terrible of a thought, so that got chucked in the ‘not-today-bitch’ bin. Which was a handy dandy mental bin that stored all of his worst problems.

He never could fit himself in it, though.

So potions it was.

Now that he was out of the business of magic, most of his money came from his potion making. He had made yet another little wizard- alchemist? Potion master?- tower. Plopped some advertisements in el Pueblo de Spark and took orders to pass the time. He had to fund his botany experiments somehow.  _ Someone  _ had to introduce weed into this world, that might as well be him.

If he was going down in history for something, that wasn’t ‘Word Renowned Wizard Extraordinaire’, then ‘The Guy who Made Weed’ would sure as hell work. 

Wag pulled up his log of orders. Luck, luck, dexterity, healing, luck, love- yeah, those didn’t really work but he’d make it anyways-, strength, luck, yadda, yadda, yadda. Lots of luck. He could probably get away with making a batch or two of luck potions, then work through the rest.

He spared a glance outside. Spark’s little hut-square town was beginning to develop into a pleasant little fishing hole. Surprisingly- or not, given how deep the waters were nearby- the place was actually a fairly hot place for single fish to mingle. Warm waters, nice and deep, lots of cover, and not much human interference. Until now, anyway.

Either the fishermen were starting to get a fair amount of revenue going or they really needed help. Luck potions were among his most expensive. The ingredients were hard to acquire regardless of how you made it.

Rabbit’s foot? Morally and physically hard to get a hold of. Rainbow trout? Terribly rare. ‘Star-light Fruit’? Not even confirmed to exist.

His method was a little more straightforward. A butt load of four-leaf clovers, a tiny bit of alcohol, and a fuckton of glitter. Clovers for the magic, glitter for the look, and alcohol for the  _ feeling _ of being lucky.

It was a very bullshit potion.

It took forever to find the clovers, let alone collect them.

Athar give him strength.

Giving one last look outside, he tucked his log book in his cloak. Then he went and rummaged through his chests.

Monotony here he comes.

  
  


~~~

Wag was halfway through his second batch of luck potions when a distant knock came from his door, followed by the sound of bells. If not for the bells he’d have ignored the knocking. With a stretch, he putzed down the stairs. The  _ many _ flights of stairs.

He missed being able to make elevators.

Opening the door revealed one Mr. Sparklez, hair tousled but otherwise neatly groomed. He was relaxed, if not a little winded from his trek up the hill Wag claimed as his own.

Wag smiled. “Hey Sparklez, what brings you up to my tower of terror today? Here for a chat or a swanky danky potion?”

He gestured for Jordan to head inside and get comfortable, but the man waved him off. “Actually,” Jordan started, “I was wondering if you’d seen Martha? I needed to ask her something and I haven’t seen her all day. Figured she’d be with you.”

Ah, so Jordan wanted to find Martha.

Ouch.

Doing his best to ignore the squeeze in his chest, Wag kept his smile firmly in place. “No, I don’t think I have. She, uh.” He paused, going for a nonchalant shrug. “She doesn’t come around the tower all that often. I’d ask Spark instead. She tends to hang around him more. Her good ole pops and all, y’know. They do have a lot to catch up on.” Wag tried to ignore how weak his words sounded. He didn’t want it to sound weird that Martha wouldn’t come around, but instead he just sounded pathetic.

Great.

Jordan gave Wag an awkward smile, seemingly uncomfortable with the sad display. “Ah, alright. I’ll ask around for Spark.” 

He turned to leave but caught himself before he was fully turned away. Jordan chewed on his words. “Are you-” His eyes swept over Wag. “How have you been? We don’t see you as much anymore. Other than Tom, I guess, but it's hard to get rid of Tom once he decides you’re friends, y’know?”

“I’ve been,” Wag wanted to laugh, but pushed through the sentence, “swell, thank you. I would get out more, but I’m always so busy potion making. Gotta pay the bills somehow.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. It wasn’t the exact truth, but he did spend a lot of time on potions.

Letting his shoulders settle, Jordan gave a small laugh. “Who would press a wizard to pay bills? Someone who wants to catch on fire, I’m sure.” He opted for a friendly smile. “If you ever want to hang out or something, let me know. I’ve been getting kind of bored between Spark telling me how to be a better champion of Ianite and living in an actual, peaceful society.”

Wag waved after Jordan as he began his descent. Yeah, a wizard. A frown tugged at his face while he shut the door.

A real fucking wizard.

~~~

Making potions was rather methodical. Each step took a certain amount of time, each item had certain effects, meshed certain ways with other items. It was like following a recipe, but with bigger consequences for messing up. Cooler results, though.

Wag had just finished melting down the clovers he’d gathered and extracting the essence- which is to say he lit it on fire after sprinkling a generous amount of blaze powder on it- when Jordan had stopped by. Which was convenient, since he needed to wait for the weird half-liquid half-slime to cool off enough to move it. The awkward potions, glitter, and alcohol were already prepped. Now all he needed to do was mix shit together.

Oh joy.

At the very least, it was satisfying to roll the clover essence into little balls to plop into an awkward potion and then watch them dissolve. The clover gave the essence a natural, healthy green color while the blaze powder, which clung to even the most thoroughly washed slime, gave it something of a yellow highlight. Golden glitter gets dumped in to make it feel like you were about to drink something special. Yes, the glitter was edible. No, most people didn’t realize he put glitter in this shit. Then the alcohol was for that background buzz. It was meant to dull the senses just enough to trick people into believing, wholeheartedly, in whatever god-forsaken abomination he just made.

Sorry. What ever divinely crafted, totally safe potion he’d just made.

Sure, he didn’t test it himself, but it seemed to work well enough for the people he gave it to. So where was the harm?

It was fine.

The next part was perhaps the most boring. And he’d spent all day yesterday crawling on the ground looking for four-leaf clovers.

Tagging and packaging. Writing names on slips of paper, tying them to the potion, putting it in a small, padded box to prevent any breaks. Rinse, repeat. It was annoying, wasted money, all that jazz, but it helped the look. Who wants to be handed a regular old potion, by hand, when you can get it in some majestic looking box to really add some sparkle to your magic?

Maybe Ruxomar rubbed off on him in a bad way.

In any case, the look was important, and by Athar was he going to make it look fucking fantastic.

Unfortunately, this task was also terribly, horribly monotonous. Worse yet, it left room for thinking. And thinking was Wag’s least favorite pastime since floating in the Void.  _ Especially _ since floating in the Void.

It lead to him thinking deeply about himself and Athar knows that most of his life problems could be traced right back to that. His mistakes, his fuck ups, his shortcomings, all of it came back to him thinking way too hard about himself. 

Gross.

Instead, he tried to run over potion recipes in his mind. Or any recipe, really. All the different ways to make a fire resistance potion when you don’t have magma cream. Counting how many potions used lemongrass. Figuring out what potions would make it more likely to catch fish. Literally anything. As long as it was potions, it was fine.

Not about himself, not about Athar, not about wizards, and not about… Martha.

Yeah, that last one would be a one hit k-o. 

But now that his mind had touched on the subject, it dug in. Sunk it's claws into the delicate stability of his mind. Dramatic, he knows, but that’s how it felt. It was like the more he tried to get the thought out of his mind, the further it burrowed into him. Awful, painful, and not even worth the effort.

Martha… clearly didn’t care about him anymore. Or, well. He winced at the thought. She didn’t love him like she used to. If she, uh. Did in the first place. But this was old news. This was something he pondered after she seemed to avoid him like the plague, seemed to grimace when she looked over and saw him and not  _ him. _

Steve.

The name sat heavy in his head. They hadn’t meshed well, ‘specially where Martha was concerned. But they managed, for her, because they loved her.

Wag felt guilty, looking back on it now. For stealing their time together, for messing with their relationship. They hadn’t gotten to be together enough, had lost too much time before-

Yeah, he didn’t like thinking about Steve more than he didn’t like thinking about Martha. Wag didn’t feel like he deserved to think the name, let alone put himself up against his image. Steve was a hero. He rebelled against Helgrind in a cunning, intelligent way, he was selfless in more aspects than any of the heroes that appeared in Ruxomar, and he was the one to sacrifice the most. To sacrifice it all.

Where did Wag stand against that?

Honestly, it was no wonder Martha couldn’t stand to look at him. He was just a reminder of Steve, a reminder that she didn’t  _ have  _ Steve. That she had him instead. 

Had she ever loved him?

That wasn’t the point. The point was that Martha was hurting, trying to pick up the pieces of what she left behind in Ruxomar. What she had lost. And Wag wasn’t doing anything to help. He was stuck up in his tower, making potions, trying to forget about everything that he wasn’t.

He should try to look for her.

But the last time he did, he got turned away. She was “catching up with her father.” She was “busy settling into the new world.” She was “trying to get a grip on her new goddesshood.”

Wag was persistent, but even he could get the hint.

By Athar, he got the hint. “I don’t want to see you.” “Don’t come near me.” “You can’t help me.” 

He wondered if Spark was doing anything to help her or if he was also caught up in everything that had happened. From what he had learned about the man in Ruxomar, he was devoted to his wife. No, he gave  _ everything  _ for his wife. Learning she was dead after working up everything to see her again?

He had played it well. When he heard the news, Spark kept strong, only letting his tears show. If he had gone home later after parting with Martha, who had her own grief and guilt, crumbling on the inside no one would know. And if he had locked himself away and let everything loose, let himself break, none would be the wiser. But they could guess, they could give him a passing glance, a thoughtful frown.

Wag wondered if he still carried that grief around with him.

Spark had taken to trying to discipline Jordan to be a better champion of Ianite. It had made the man uncomfortable with getting told he could be a better follower and all. Or rather, having it implied that he wasn’t the best follower. Spark was stubborn in ‘training’ the champion of Ianite to be a full fledged follower.

Still, Jordan didn’t appreciate the sentiment.

Wag understood. Having the husband of the very goddess you watched die get on your case about being a better follower? When the crushing weight of guilt hadn’t fully let off your shoulders? He wondered if Spark hadn’t taken to coaching Jordan to make himself feel better, to remind himself that he would have kept Ianite safe, that he would have fixed the world before it broke out from under them.

It sounded like torture.

But it helped settle Wag. Call him selfish, but he felt better knowing other people had real problems, real grief, to deal with. Sure, Wag had his hang up with Martha. Yeah, he had his issues with being-a-wizard-yet-not. But he wasn’t as close to neck deep as Spark was. Like Martha was.

He wished belittling his problems made them feel less  _ suffocating _ .

Martha. Martha was still pushing him away. And he was letting her. What did that say about him? About their relationship?

A sigh heaved out of his chest. It was like someone stuck a large rock right in his rib cage, tucked neatly between his lungs. Hard, heavy, and an all around burden. Potions. He needed to think about potions.

His hands betrayed him with a subtle shake. How many names did he have left to write? How many boxes did he have left to pack? Fuck if he knew. He had to keep counting, to find a way to wrap up all his issues, his panic, his fear, into a nice little package and tuck it away like a forgotten gift.

_ Athar help me _ , Wag tried to control his thoughts,  _ I might drive myself insane by the end of the year. _

As if on cue, another knock at his door broke his thoughts. He tried not to feel relieved to rush away from his potion packaging. He was fine, cool as a cucumber.

Throwing open the door, he came face to face with his second visitor of the day. Tom.

Tom was standing in front of his door almost uncertainly, like he wasn’t quite sure why or how he got there. He took one sweep over Wag’s unhidden face and a determined, focus look set in on his own.

“We,” Tom looped his arm around Wag’s in a sudden movement, “are going out somewhere. No if’s, and’s, or but’s.” 

Eyebrows shooting up, Wag let himself be dragged from his house with an aborted motion to close the door behind him. He mournfully watched his door stay ajar. Hopefully no one else ventured up the hill today, otherwise he might be down a few potions.

“Why?” Wag turned his attention back to Tom, who was resolute in his intention of pulling Wag away to Athar knows where.

A grin was shot in his direction. “You look like you need to get out of the house. Also, I’m real fuckin’ bored and you’re clearly in need of some company.”

A wry smile snuck on Wag’s face. “Oh lucky me. We should get some tea, live up to our trademark.”

Tom nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s hit town. Fuck it up. Flaunt our hero-ness and get shit faced.”

“Let’s not get shit faced, and especially not get kicked out of town for making a ruckus.” Wag fondly rolled his eyes. “I do quite like living here and it’d be a shame to have to follow you around to make sure you don’t die.”

Tom gave a mocked offended gasp, free hand coming up to his forehead as he leaned away. “How dare you! I’ll have you know I’d never die if I didn’t live in a community. I’m a rogue, don’t you know.” He sniffed. “I can easily hold my own in the dangerous wilds.”

“Without anyone to pester and annoy?”

“I can pester anything!”

Wag bit his lip to stop a laugh. Tom always brought such energy with him. It was refreshing. Maybe he was right, he just needed some company.

He wouldn’t say that to his face, though.

“I suppose so,” Wag continued, “You are rather persistent. I bet you could annoy the sun into setting early.”

“Nah, I’d blow that fucker up instead.” Tom winked, snuggled back up to Wag, effectively trapping his arm. “I still think we should get shit faced. Drink our sorrows into the drain, throw them up another day.” 

Wag mock gagged. “I’d rather keep them down the drain, thank you. Besides, what a waste of alcohol. If I’m drinking, I’m drinking to keep it down. Not!” He quickly cut Tom off, “That I want to go out drinking.” He eyed the sky, giving a disapproving look to Tom when he saw that it was still early afternoon. “No one should be getting drunk before the sun touches the horizon.”

With a pout, Tom leaned into Wag’s side. “Lame. I suppose,” he drew out the word, “we could go get some good old fashioned tea. Call it a pre-game without the game.”

Wag rolled his eyes. He wasn’t looking to out game his issues. That wasn’t a solution. It’d just make him turn into a sad drunk and give him a headache in the morning.

This is why he needed weed back.

But also, he didn’t want to develop another problem. Gotta keep it clean. For now.

Tom still had his own plans, alcohol or no alcohol. “I find when I’m feeling down that doing something batshit stupid makes me feel better. We should go fishing with our bare hands- no, with only our teeth- and no shirt on. Attract ladies and gents to us alike. Are they looking at our finely chiseled chests or our daring courage? Who’s to say.”

“You are far from chiseled my friend. Try soft.” Wag poked Tom in the stomach jokingly. “And who said that I’m feeling down?”

“Hey!” Tom swatted his hand away. “I’ll have you know I’m more ripped than you’ll ever be!” He huffed, squeezing Wag’s arm. They walked in silence for a moment, now upon the town. After wandering the street for a second, Tom spoke again, quieter. “I had this feeling.” Wag eyes him. “It was weird. My gut was telling me to check in on you. And then when you opened the door it was written on your face. Even I’m not dumb enough to miss that.” 

Wag heard the unspoken  _ I was worried _ carried in Tom’s words. Talk about soft. He squeezed Tom’s arm back. “Oh wow, a gut feeling?” He teased lightly, “I think it was just you missing my magical presence. It is hard to go too long without seeing me.” If only that were true. “But I’m here now, and we can go do something absolutely stupid, just for you.”

They share a smile, a quiet  _ thank you  _ floating between them.

Tom gets a glint in his eyes. “Does this mean we can go catch fish with our bare hands?”

“I suppose so.” Wag drawled. “How else are we going to show off our toned figures?”

That got him a laugh, one concerningly maniacal, and he was dragged between houses.

Yeah, he might regret this.

Tom turned and gave him a smile that was all teeth and no common sense. He paused next to the shore, a little ways off from the docks. Shucking his clothes, one Tom Syndicate stood proudly in his underwear, unconcerned about the effect of sunlight on zombified skin. People gave them a look of distaste.

Oh, he was definitely going to regret this. 

~~~

Soggy was one way to describe how Wag felt. Wet as shit was another. All in all, he was rather pleased with himself and the rather large, shiny fish sitting in his lap. The fish which so happened to be a fair amount larger than Tom’s.

“Oh fuck you.” Tom spluttered around a mouthful of fish, laying down an arm’s length away. He had gathered quite an amount of fish, a solid number for catching something with your mouth alone. None of them were that large. In fact, most were an average, if not slightly below, size.

Wag eyed the pile smugly. He may have only caught two, but damn if he didn’t go big.

“Well, it seems that I’ve caught myself a winner.” He tried not to look too pleased. The look on Tom’s face told him he failed.

Tom scoffed, letting the fish fall to the sandy floor with a wet  _ fwop _ . “You got lucky! Clearly, quantity wins the game here. Sure, you caught one big, old, dumb motherfucker, but I caught a dozen other dumbass fish! I should get the win.”

“Wasn’t size the goal here?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

Before Tom could fire back, a voice from behind interrupted him. “I think the two fools sitting in their underwear soaked to the bone are both losers.”

Wag tilted his head back to see Tucker standing with his hands in his pockets, back slouched, and an easy smile on his face, standing just where the sand turned to grass. Next to him was one lovely fox lady, Sonja herself, and one Sparkle butt, Jordan.

Nice to see the gang all here.

Tom sat up. “How dare you! I’ll have you know we are the best fishers on the island!”

Tucker raised a single eyebrow. “Really now? Are all the other fishers out at sea today?”

“Well excuse you, Mr. Boner. I’ll have you know we caught all of this,” Tom sweeps his arm across their score. “And I think that’s quite the haul.”

“How long did it take you?”

“Fuck you.”

Tucker snickered, moving closer to poke his foot into Tom’s side. “That’s what I thought.”

Wag, meanwhile, was carefully moving his prize to the side so he could stand up. Brushing the sand off himself, he exchanged a smile with Sonja and a nod with Jordan. Sonja gave him a good natured headshake. “And here I thought you were smarter than this.”

Jordan’s eyes trailed down Wag’s chest before flittering away. “Right down to your boxers? Tom must have gotten you good.”

“Well, I was fairly set on getting a nice cup of tea and walking across the beach, hand in hand like real lovers, but Tom was far more intent to go all macho and catch fish with his mouth alone.” Wag leaned in with a hand against his mouth to give a stage whisper. “Between you and me, I think he’s trying to step up his oral game.” He winked.

Jordan groaned, giving Wag what he thought to be a rather dramatic eye roll. That wasn’t even the worst he had to offer, and he’d given him such an easy setup! Sonja waggled her eyebrows and giggled when Tom butted in. “It’ll never be as good as yours dear.” He batted his eyelashes mock innocently.

The group burst into laughter. Tucker stepped closer, swinging an arm around his vaguely damp shoulders. “Hey, it’s nice to see you out and about man. It’s been a hot second. Almost thought you’d drank the wrong potion and kicked it or something.” 

Wag nodded seriously. “Quite the real possibility. Why, just yesterday I almost drank real glitter! The kind you’re not supposed to eat.”

“Been there,” Sonja added, “I thought I was going to die when I did. Just gave me a very colorful trip to the bathroom.”

Tom grinned as he moved to elbow Jordan in the side. “I bet our good ole Captain here wouldn’t know the difference. How else did he get his namesake, right Mr. Sparkley Butt?”

“Hardy har,” Jordan gave Tom a fondly disgusted look. “The name’s Captain Sparklez, that ‘namesake’ came from you giving me a stupid nickname.”

They fell into more chatter, giving Tom and Wag the time to put their clothes back on, Tom not caring that he was still wet as he put his suit back on, while Wag just slung his cloak over himself. No point in putting pants on over wet underwear.

The group, all now clothed to some extent, began to wander back towards town. Wag was more than content to listen to Tom ramble on. He would get interrupted by Tucker when he said something ‘incredibly stupid’ and, more rarely, by Jordan, who would correct some technical thing that Tom clearly did not give a shit about.

Sonja drifted next to him, giving Wag a conspiratorial smile. “You’re looking mighty fine in just a robe and boxers. Is this the bedroom Wag special? Or is that sans boxers?” 

“The bedroom Wag special is whatever you want it to be.” He winked. “It’s magic all around.”

They exchanged a laugh, falling silent again.

Wag knew that wasn’t what Sonja really wanted to talk about.

She looked back at him, a warm look in her eyes. “It’s nice. To see you out. Been a while, y’know?” Sonja stretched her arms out in front of her. “It really has been a bit since we’ve talked. And since you’ve left the house. But honestly?” Her tail swishes behind her. “I could have made a few more treks up that damn mountain myself.”

Shaking his head, Wag elbowed her side lightly. “It is a fairly tall hill, but I think mountain is a bit of an overstatement.” It was, in fact, a bitch of a climb, but Wag didn’t think it was that bad. He’d put the tower just on the other side of the Glowstone Forest, across from the Priest’s house. (What was it called again? Forest of the Void? Abyss Forest? Obsidian Trees? Yeah, he didn’t know or care). 

Left unsaid was a  _ ‘That’s ok, you don’t have to go out of your way’. _

He received an eye roll. “Please, the only trek worse than that is up to where Tucker’s first house was. I was so happy when we moved it down the mountain. Well, into.”

_ It’s no trouble, _ her words left hanging,  _ I don’t mind. _

Wag huffed. How dare she be considerate. “You know what’s worse than a trek up a mountain? A trek up a mountain to get some rare flower, only to be spited by the universe and have not a single flower growing up there. Honestly, I could use some help from someone so used to climbing mountains.” A smirk pulled at his face. “Or maybe just send someone up there for me.”

_ We could always hang out when I’m playing master botanist. If you’d like. _

Sonja smiled at him, but couldn’t resist getting a dig in. “Aw, did you skip leg day? Have some chicken legs over there? That’s alright, I’m sure someone,” she tilts her head, eyes sweeping past the buildings around them, “would be willing. Get a nice little lackey so you can rest your old bones at home and complain about how the cold makes your joints stiff.” 

“How dare you,” Wag sniffed, hand held up to his heart. “I’ll have you know, my joints are just fine in the cold! Some of us just aren’t made of the cold, little miss fox.”

Sonja, ever so mature, stuck her tongue out at him.

They kept up some conversation, occasionally stopping to listen in to whatever Tom was saying. Wag, for a moment, realised that he had missed this. Missed them. That even though he wanted to avoid all the new things in this world, he’d always have his friends.

A quiet, hopeless voice asked if they’d leave him too.

~~~

There was nothing quite like hiking up a hill, in only your boxers, a little buzzed, during the night time. The pure amount of skeletons that had sniffed around looking for a cheap shot alone was bad enough, but the fact that his legs already hurt from struggling to fish with just his mouth without drowning? Yeah, it felt more like he was climbing up a mountain that was near vertical.

Fuck gravity.

A pit of warmth had settled in his chest a couple hours ago. Whether it was the alcohol that Tucker, of all people, had got the group into drinking or just the effect of being with friends for a while, Wag felt content. Not a common feeling in recent times. It was nice.

Really nice.

Upon reaching his door, his mind scrambled to figure out why it was left slightly open. He shrugged. As long as nothing was missing or stolen, he didn’t really care.

He made his way inside- making sure to actually close the door behind him- and wandered over to the stairs. Ah, his mortal enemy. Between being a wizard way back when and the magic rampant in Ruxomar, he had gotten way too used to avoiding stairs. Now it was a chore to move up and down the tower. But his bed was upstairs and he was not sleeping on the crappy couch he shoved into the lobby for guests or customers  _ again. _

So stairs it was.

By the time he got halfway up the stairs, he wanted to quit. Why, in Athar’s name, did he put his room on the third highest level? Stupidity, that’s why. The view was  _ so _ not worth it.

When he actually made it up to the correct floor, he pushed the door to his room open, chucked his clothes to one side, and collapsed in bed. Now this, this was worth it. Soft, plush, warm, and very much without skeletons.

The less arrows being shot at him the better.

A soft chuckle caught his attention. Or rather, killed the peace he had wrapped around himself mere hours earlier.

He didn’t move. Not because he was scared. No, he knew who was in his room. He just wanted to pretend, for a moment, like this was something he was used to.

Like coming home to his lover being home wouldn’t surprise him.

The bed dipped beside him and his robed and boxer-ed glory. A hand ran through his hair. Wag tried not to tense.

“Seems like you had a good night out.” Her voice was like silk, soft and pleasant on his ears. “Hopefully they didn’t hassle you too much.”

Wag breathed. His chest was tight, emotion punching at his ribs. “Yeah,” he said, “It was nice to have some time with them again.”

All of this felt so forgein, now. To have her here. Was she here? Or did he drink more than he had originally thought. Shit.

Martha scratched his head. “I do have to say, I’m surprised that you actually left the tower. You’ve been holed up here for so long I thought I’d have to drag you out.” He could hear the smile in her voice. Or maybe he was imagining it. His head was a mess and he wasn’t quite sure what he was making up and what was real.

It was kind of pathetic.

He laughed. “Yeah, Tom showed up and dragged me out. Not complaining though, I had a lot of fun. It was nice to take off from work. Making potions gets boring.”

So did sitting in your own depressing thoughts, but that was more exhausting than boring.

“Oh,” Wag turned his head to face Martha, looking up at her. The darkness made her hair stand out. It looked like a halo around her face, bringing out her lovely lilac eyes. She was just as beautiful as the last time he’d seen her. But there was something heavy in her eyes that she tried to wipe away when his own reached her. “Jordan was looking for you earlier. Did he ever find you?”

Martha blinked and the heaviness was gone. Ish. He knew it was there. Somewhere.

“Ah, no.” She frowned. “I’ll have to see what he needs tomorrow.”

He nodded. To be honest, Wag wasn’t convinced Martha was actually sitting here with him. Which was kind of sad. Very sad.

“I can come with, if you’d like,” Wag rushed out, trying not to sound desperate. “We haven’t had much time together, which is understandable with your dad being around and all the stuff you need to do. And, y’know, it’d be nice to walk with you for a bit.”

Oh, he sounded so desperate.

Yikes.

A smile graced Martha’s lips. “Sure, I’d love that.” Wag let out a breath. “We’ll take a stroll, get a nice scenic view of the beach as we go, call it a date-” She cut off. The heaviness came back to her eyes. Wag knew what she was thinking. Who she was thinking about.

It hurt.

“I’m going to go take a shower before getting ready for bed. You can go ahead and sleep, if you’d like. I know you’ve had a long day and you’re probably tired. Don’t force yourself for me.” Martha stood as she said this, fingers trailing in his hair. Then she left.

Reluctantly, Wag got up to do just that. Changed his boxers and hung up his cloak. Buried himself back into bed, under the covers.

Yeah. It’d be a date.

~~~

Martha didn’t like to get up early. Neither did Wag. Normally, this lead to them sleepily cuddling until one felt so inspired as to get up. Normally.

Ever since the group returned to the land of Mianite, Martha didn’t sleep as well. Between nightmares, being a fledgling goddess, and the… absence of certain people, she found herself waking earlier and earlier.

Wag had his fair share of sleep troubles. Where sleep troubles stopped Martha from sleeping as much, it led to Wag sleeping more. The less he slept the more exhausted he was. The more exhausted he was the more he slept. It was a vicious cycle and actually the reason Wag didn’t leave the house as much.

Nonetheless, both found themselves getting ready to leave just after dawn. Martha moved like last night didn’t end awkward and uncomfortable. Bright, cheerful, and painfully affectionate with Wag. Like she hadn’t been avoiding him for the better part of their stay here.

The worst part was that this wasn’t the first time she came back like nothing was wrong. It was almost like she could tell when he was starting to doubt their relationship. Except, he was constantly doubting their relationship. Even when things had been going well. But this time, it was like she knew when he was thinking about how much of a relationship they  _ didn’t  _ have.

Which was concerning if she actually knew what he thought.

Wag, on the other hand, moved like a zombie. Tired, groggy, and barely awake. The picture of early morning beauty. It wasn’t far off from how he used to act, but now it was like someone had chained weights to his feet.

Damn, he was tired as shit.

Martha had set about making some breakfast from the little food he had. Some eggs, some- thankfully not spoiled- fruit, and milk. Wag was pretty sure he didn’t have milk, but he wasn’t going to question it. She was the more magical of the two, now, so it was within reason that she could get milk in the few minutes he’d lagged behind her in getting out of bed.

He, on the other hand, was on the task of making coffee. Coffee was something of a luxury here, since it was so new to the land. It wasn’t grown naturally on the island and Wag wasn’t sure if it was imported from some far off place or if it had been introduced by the earlier dimension hoppers that still hung around. Spark, for sure, seemed to run on the stuff.

That didn’t really matter to Wag, though. He had a plant of it in his garden, for ease of access, but more importantly to see if it could be used to help crossbreed weed into existence. No far off land had procured the plant yet, so he would still strive to be the maker of weed.

Not the best plan in the world, but that wouldn’t matter once he actually made the plant.

He really shouldn’t be encouraging substance abuse.

Surely, coffee would wake him up. Then he could go on a walk with Martha and do that thing they seemed to do where they avoided  _ those topics  _ and pretended like everything was fine. And maybe, just maybe, they’d enjoy the conversation. Maybe they’d feel something again, feel whole for the brief moment where they let themselves forget about the person who was missing, the person that clearly held more place in Martha’s heart for it to have torn so much when he-

Maybe Wag would get his shit together and let things die between them.

Maybe he’d decide that fighting an uphill battle wasn’t worth it.

For now, though, he was content to pretend things were the same. It was better than being entirely, wholly alone. And, deep in his heart, he still loved her. So, so much.

Enough that he knew it would hurt no matter what he did.

They chatted over the food Martha cooked. She complemented his coffee, the beans from the plant he owned, and he told her that the cooking is just as good as it’d always been.

Neither mentioned that it was usually  _ him _ , not either of them, that did the cooking.

They tossed little affections at each other with ease. Like it was second nature. A brush of hands, a quick smile, a peck on the cheek. It was like a dance. As though they were trying to make a show of how much they still cared, how much nothing had changed despite the fact that everything had changed.

Hands loosely held together, they left the house as a unit, holding up a conversation with ease. If either of them tripped up in their speech as they avoided  _ that  _ topic or  _ this  _ word, neither called each other out for it. For all that everything was off and wrong, they made it work. They found a way to shove a cube into a round hole.

Whether it was because they wanted it to work so bad or because the hole was a giant chasm with space for miles was up to debate.

The beach was calm in the early morning. Fishers were stocking up their ships to start up on their daily trip, tightening a rope here, making space there. Few people walked about the town, the kids either asleep or getting hassled to eat breakfast. With so few people out, it felt like they were on the outskirts of life, just the two of them. Like viewing the world through a painting.

That illusion was helped by the sheer height of Jordan’s tree. It was still there, despite the damage it had received when Tom got to it. If he looked closely, Wag could see the remains of burn marks and grooves held in the thick bark. He had heard that, after the heroes had left, Ianite had nursed the tree back to life in honor of her lost champion.

He ignored the fact that Ianite had sent them into the void in the first place.

Wag himself had left before that, called on to help the heroes that he had watched over as a distant wizard. Even now, he wondered if it had been worth it. To lose everything because he was asked to. In his weakest moments, he wondered if it hadn’t been the gods’ way of throwing him out.

That thought hurt the most out of everything in his life and he never let it linger.

It wasn’t long before they made it to the base of the hill that Jordan’s tree- sorry, Jerry’s Tree- sat beside. They weren’t that close to getting inside yet, but it was a milestone.

As they climbed the hill, massive roots stretching out below them, Wag started up some conversation about the different species of trees. He never once mentioned apple trees. It was part of his botany, after all, and important to keep track of. The types of trees, not apple trees. Apple trees were just one of  _ those topics _ and therefore something they made an unspoken agreement not to talk about.

He pondered, during his ramble, that Martha could have just flown up the tree. She could do that, after all. Wag couldn’t. Not anymore. The worst part was that he’d help build this tree, or, well, make it. Way back then. That was a sore spot to think about, but even still he was in awe of the tree. Not because of the fact that he's contributed to it- no, he had felt a sense of pride for that a long time ago. Rather, because of how it’d regrown.

Ianite’s gentle hand had turned it from merely a large, enchanting tree to a behemoth of divine wonder. Its branches had spread further, with more room between them and the tips reaching towards the heavens. The leaves had shaped up and gotten fuller, surely the size of a full-grown adult by now. Fireflies could be seen lazily hovering about clusters of leaves, giving the tree a pleasant, natural lighting.

Many more platforms and walkways had been built, new buildings having been added on top of that. They stretched from one end to the other. The most daring teased the edge of a branch, hung firmly along the length of it. The walkways were either long rope bridges made of braided vines that shimmered a faint purple or ramps made and reinforced by the same wood the tree was made of, the bottom featuring fancy swirls alongside the support beams.

Other vines, flora, and bushes lined the branches and platforms. Though they looked like they were leeching off the tree at first, a closer inspection- granted you were on the tree to get an inspection- showed they were delicately wrapped around the branches and sneakily planted in hidden pots for a more natural look. The flowers ranged from all sorts of purples- fitting. Buddleias enclosed doorways, Hyacinthus were wound along lanterns strung along pathways, and an abundance of Jacaranda could be found wherever space was made for flora.

The more he looked the more nature there was to see, the more connecting walkways there were strung along, the more everything there was. It felt like the whole world was home under the canopy.

The tree had gone from the house of a solitary man to a city of nature.

It didn’t feel like the same tree.

Wag pushed aside the nagging thought that it was better than anything he could have ever made. Ianite was a full fledged goddess, Wag was- had been- a mere wizard with the idea of godhood in his head. What he made had been incredible for mortal standards, and was still incredible for the standards he had held himself to. It would do no good to compare himself to Ianite, especially when all she had done was repair what was already there.

As they made their way up to the crest of the hill, following the path from the town to the tree as it curled around Jordan’s old home, Wag spared a glance at the birch and quartz house. It was simple, sleek and minimal. It suited Jordan. Of course, Jordan himself had made it, so why wouldn’t it?

Compared to Jerry’s Tree, though, it seemed rather dull and insignificant.

Actually.

Wag spared a closer look at the smaller home. It looked lived in. A frown pulled at his lips. Was someone living there? Who else, other than Jordan, would?

Martha had picked up the conversation now, adding in details about trees that she had seen in her travels long ago, ones he’d never have had the chance to see. There were many interesting species, some magical in the same sense as Silverwoods, some as plain as a simple oak tree, but all more than enough to satiate Wag’s desire to know more. His mind kept getting pulled back to the Casa de Sparklez, though.

A thought struck him, one he’d had just moments before.

Jerry’s Tree looked and felt so different, now that Ianite had tended to it. Like it was a different tree. Did Jordan think the same? Did it feel less like home, after being away for so long and having watched it burn?

Was Jordan living in his older house because the tree felt so forgein?

Martha was going on about a beautiful tree known for the lights its seeds shone, especially during the night hours. It really sounded like a sight to behold. More than that, the gentle, awed look on Martha’s face pulled at Wag’s heart.

_ Take care of her. _

There was a sour taste in his mouth. Wag decided not to mention what he had just noticed. That was Jordan’s business, not his.

Martha was looking at him now, a small, shy smile on her lips. Wag felt like if he said the wrong thing it’d disappear in an instant. Like Martha was used to having her interests pushed aside, or used to pushing them aside herself when people didn’t seem to care about what she was saying.

_ Take care of her. _

He offered a smile back, a genuine one. He really did love her. More than anything, he wanted to keep loving her. But something told him it wouldn’t work. That what they had had started to decay sometime around the end of Ruxomar, around when  _ he  _ left.

No, around when Martha almost became Mrs. a instead of a Ms.

Bitterness clutched at Wag’s heart. For all the love he held for her, he wondered, again and again, if she held the same. If she ever held the same, if she even held something close to the same.

_ Take care of her. _

Looking up at Jerry’s Tree, Wag remembered what it used to be. He remembered watching it burn, the pain he had felt in seeing his hard work get tarnished, in seeing a friend’s home wither away.

Now, though, it was different. Not quite a home, anymore, but reborn. Alive. And maybe, in the future, it’d be a home again, or maybe not. Maybe it needed to burn for it to become what it was now. Jordan would have never built it up to this, but Ianite had.

Maybe that was the secret, Wag pondered. Maybe you had to let things burn to be able to build them up stronger.

He looked at Martha again, at the softness in her face and the hardness in her eyes. His heart pulled in so many directions. Love, anguish, love, despair, love, hurt, love love love.

Yeah, he was going to have to let this relationship burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason I chose to separate Martha and Waglington comes down to two things: Lady Kris' work "Mianite Intermission" and the fact that this fic is meant to focus on Sparklington. I didn't want to do Martha a disservice by having her still in a relationship with Wag while I built up his relationship with Jordan.
> 
> I know Martha is canonically polyromantic, so while it could work out as a poly relationship between the three, it just wasn't meant to be.
> 
> I plan on posting weekly updates, but if that gets to be too fast I'll look to every other week instead. Let me know what you think in the comments, and hopefully I'll see with a new chapter next week!


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wag escorts Martha to Jordan's house and decides to have a day out with Sonja.

The duo had just started into Jerry’s Tree when they heard a call behind them. They turned to see Jordan hustling forward, an awkward smile on his face. Wag shared a look with Martha. Seems his suspicions had been correct. 

He’d have to ask Jordan about that.

Jordan, meanwhile, had shuffled to a stop right in front of them. “Hey guys, glad I caught you.” He glanced between them. “What brings you to my abode?”

“You were looking for me yesterday, right?” Martha starts. “Well, I do have some free time now, I figured I’d stop by to see what you needed.”

He stopped for a moment. Hummed. “Oh!” Jordan jumped back in. “I wanted to talk to you about some godly related stuff. Spark’s been- uh, well, he’s been drilling in ‘how to be a perfect Ianite follower’ for-” Wag was amazed that neither of them reacted to the name anymore. Different goddess, of course, but that was still a festering wound. “- whatever reason, and I haven’t been able to escape him long enough to avoid the lecture. I honestly just want to talk to someone that’s more in the know-how that’s,” Jordan waved his hands, “not him. Give me another week of this and I might just turn from champion to missionary.”

Martha huffed, but a smile snuck up onto her lips. “He’s not that bad, I’m sure. But yes, I do have some time to talk about ‘godly stuff’.” She turned to Wag, hesitating a moment. “I’ll see you later then, Wag.” She reached out a hand to delicately stroke a cheek.

He gave what he hoped was a solid smile back. “Until then, love.” Wag took her hand, thumb stroking the back of it before he placed a parting kiss upon it. Reluctantly, he started to trail away, keeping her hand in his for as long as he could. When he was far enough, he offered Jordan a wave goodbye. Then he turned to walk back down the hill.

Shit. Now he had to figure out how to break up with Martha.

Yeah, these next few days aren’t going to be fun.

But what to do now? The day had only just started and there wasn’t much use in going back to being a shut in when the sun had hardly started up the sky. Well, hanging with Jordan, or Martha, was out. Maybe Tom? Or Sonja or Tucker? It was fairly hard to keep track of Tom nowadays, though.

Things were odd with Tom. Not between him and Tom, but with Tom in general. It felt like he was trying to balance who he was in this world and who he was in Ruxomar and not finding either. Like he was feeling pressured to merge the distant past with the recent past and come to terms with Dianite- both Dianites- and Mot.

What was up with them, anyway? Last Wag had checked, Tom and Mot were fairly buddy buddy and Tom and Dianite were pretty chill, despite the bit of tension when Mot showed up and when Tom’s penchant dumbassery was making its rounds. Now, it seemed like Tom was trying to keep a good distance from them.

Here he was getting distracted again. But damn if everyone didn’t have some issues skulking around. He wondered if Sonja or Tucker had something. What did they feel about the other Mianite? And his death?

Ok, ok, not the point. What should he do now?

Damn, did he really have no life outside of his tower that he was drawing such hard blanks?

Fuck it, he’d swing around Sonja’s and ask if she wanted to go flower picking with him. Sorry, gather floral ingredients for potions. With how many people were ordering luck potions, he was going to be stuck finding four leaf clovers in all his free time.

It seemed a pleasant stroll through town was in order, then. Maybe he’d pick up a muffin on the way. Perhaps a chocolate one. He would indulge in some more tea but he was looking for more of an on-the-go thing.

He nodded to himself, making his way through the streets of the town to the quaint little bakery settled just past the docks. The baker was a kind, younger lady who had told him that her dream was to open a bakery, and an island with few inhabitants that barely anyone had ever been to was free real estate. To be fair, she wasn’t wrong. No one else had tried to make any competition and no one was complaining about her being here. In fact, there would probably be a lot of hooting and hollering if she left.

When he wandered in the smell of warm bread welcomed him. Gretchen called a greeting from behind the counter, back turned to him as she kneaded a batch of dough. She was short, Wag towering over her, but she could take him out if she so pleased. Not just because she was finely muscled- she could give any seaman a run for their money- but also because a mere breeze could knock Wag and his gangly awkwardness over.

“How do you do today, dearest Gretchen?” Wag surveyed the items currently on display. The croissants looked heavenly, and next to them sat three eclairs. They appeared to have been recently chilled as their chocolate icing had drops of condensation beading along the top. There was a colorful display of macarons on the rack besides those, as well as a row of various muffins.

“Oh, I’m doing as well as one can when they wake at the crack of dawn,” Gretchen said over her shoulder, giving him a quick smile.

“So feeling shitty and barely functional?” Wag mused over the muffins, trying to spy a chocolate one. Unfortunately, though he was quite awake, his brain was struggling to spot the difference between what could be a chocolate muffin or a blueberry muffin. Or a morning glory. He wrinkled his nose. Why would anyone put raisins in a muffin?

Gretchen laughed. “Perhaps for a shut in, but I am feeling quite fine. It’s nice to watch the sunrise, y’know. Getting up early? Not so much. If not for the bakery I’d much prefer to sleep in.”

Wag scoffed playfully. “Me, a shut in? Preposterous. I’ll have you know I am, at worst, a friendly, magical hermit. At best, I am a magnificent wizard that lives in a tower nearby that oh so graciously helps out the townsfolk.”

“For a fee.” Gretchen was layering the dough now. If there weren't croissants sitting in front of him, Wag might say she was making those. Perhaps she was making danish pastries? It had been a while since he’d seen them on her display. It’d also been a while since he’d visited.

“A wizard’s got to make a living somehow.” Wag picked up a muffin, closely inspecting it. It looked like it was chocolate. He hoped it was chocolate. But if it was blueberry he would live. Both were good, especially from here.

“That he does.” She paused from her dough magic to take a look at him. “Blueberry muffin? Anything else?”

Wag clicked his tongue. “Was hoping this was chocolate. But yes, just one muffin to go. I wasn’t really anticipating being awake so early, but Martha was home and she likes to get up early, and Jordan wanted to talk to her, and I,” he waved his hands, “wanted to spend some time with her? So I walked her to his house. Now, I’m standing here. Then heading to Sonja’s.”

Yeah, it felt like he’d just recounted his entire life story to her. No, he was not going to acknowledge how painful that part of the conversation was to participate in.

Gretchen raised an eyebrow, plucking the muffin from his hand, replacing it on the rack and grabbing one from farther back in the line. This one, now that he saw it, looked much more like a chocolate muffin than the other. Nice.

“Funny you should mention Jordan.” It was Wag’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “He asked about you, oh, yesterday? The day before? About how you were doing. Seemed fairly concerned ‘bout ya. Asked me how you were doing when he came in for a treat.” She lifted a hand before Wag could interrupt. “He came here for the treat, but I guess he had you on the mind. This used to be one of your favorite places, I suppose it reminded him of you.”

Well if that didn’t make Wag feel warm on the inside, what would? It was nice to feel remembered. But wait, was that why Jordan had come over yesterday, then? Except he had been looking for Martha.

That put a frown back on his face. “He did swing by yesterday, but he asked for Martha. Are you sure he was concerned about me?”

Gretchen rolled her eyes. “Yes. It was very obvious even if he tried to hide it. I did tell him that Martha would know more about how you were doing than I would, so that could be why he asked for her.” She held out her hand and Wag dutifully placed some copper coins in it. “Mr. Sparklez doesn’t seem like the best with confronting people about their feelings, so it wouldn’t surprise me that he’d see you and balk at the idea of bringing up his concerns with you directly. Going to Martha would be way easier for him than going to you. If he actually ever asks Martha about you at all.”

Wag hummed in thought, ignoring the little ‘wuss’ Gretchen mutters under her breath in relation to Jordan. That much was true, Jordan was not much of a feelings guy. The dorky puns and trying hard to be the smart one guy? Yes. Feelings? You’d have better luck with Tom.

Actually, Tom was pretty easy on the feelings side. Kind of. You’d have better luck with Tucker than Jordan. And Tucker was not the most emotional sort of man. There we go.

“Well, when I left Martha with Jordan, he said he wanted to ask her about ‘godly stuff’. Do you think they’re actually talking about me?” Wag pulled a sliver off the top of his muffin and nibbled on it.

Gretched leaned on the counter with a shrug, dropping the coins into her apron pocket. “Maybe. Who’s to say?” She eyed him up and down, a contemplative look coming into her eyes. “Didn’t you say you were heading to Sonja’s? That’s good, you could use more time out of the house. If you weren’t naturally gray I’d say you were getting pale. Hard to tell like this, but you are getting more of the ‘I’m your friendly neighborhood ghost’ type look than ‘I’m your charming, possibly demonic, friendly wizard’ type look. Take one for the road,” Gretchen reached over to pluck another muffin off the rack, passing it to Wag.

“What if I just eat both myself?” Wag joked, taking the muffin in his other hand.

Gretchen tsked. “Sorry, I only give freebies to the pretty ladies. You sir, are no pretty lady.”

Wag gasped, “How dare you! My mother said I could be anything I wanted to be! If I want to be a pretty lady to get a free muffin, I’ll be a pretty lady!”

She pushed his shoulder with a guffaw. “Oh sure, princess. If you ever come in dressed to the nines as the most gorgeous lady I’ve seen, I’ll give you a pretty muffin. Be warned,” Gretchen bat her eyelashes. “I have seen quite the stunning women before.”

Wag rolled his eyes fondly, making for the door. “Just you watch, I’ll come blow your socks off!”

With a wave, he departed. He twirled the other muffin in his hand. Free muffin for a pretty lady, huh?

Wait, was Gretchen hitting on Sonja?

~~~

Wag didn’t end up making it to Sonja and Tucker’s house. Rather, he found Sonja sitting near the shore just in front of it, staring up at Mianite’s temple. He didn’t take Sonja for much of a morning person, but it seemed like the temple would have a nice view during sunrise.

Settling down next to her without a comment, he offered her the muffin. Sonja was surprised to see him, her eyes searching his face, but wordlessly took the muffin. They ate them in silence.

The temple had changed a lot, but that was to be expected. It had been razed to the ocean floor, after all. But from what he had heard there had been a big effort in rebuilding it. Though the work would have taken years, it apparently had taken mere months.

Mianite, according to word of mouth, hadn’t helped rebuild it at all. Rather, he didn’t expect anyone else to move to the island. Hell, neither did Dec, who had been making plans to move elsewhere. It made Wag wonder why the gods, why the priest himself, had shown up here. Why had the wizards? He drummed his fingers against his leg, dismissing the thought for another time.

The wizards, before the heroes had even left, had refused to help. Wag remembered this well. They hadn’t wanted to step on Mianite’s toes, so to say, as it was a gift he had sent the world and had been crafted by the god’s own hand.

Actually- again- Ianite had played a part in rebuilding it. It was almost strange to think about, the Goddess of Balance rebuilding the temple of another god. Except, it made sense. She didn’t rebuild it of her own power. Rather, she encouraged the common folk to rebuild it and helped a great deal along the way. She invited people from far off lands to come restore the temple and, with the assistance of Spark, set up the town that had been cultivated as a solid landmark. Ianite used the restoration of the temple as a way of connecting the island to the rest of the world.

Though, when asked why she had chosen to help rebuild the temple, Ianite had responded, “It’s my way of thanking Mianite and his champions for helping to save me. It is the least I could do for such a tremendous task.”

Maybe that’s why she rebuilt Jerry’s Tree, too. To thank Jordan. Or to honor him.

Wag’s favorite part of this story- as it was only a story to him, he’d never had any real confirmation on this- was what Ianite had said: Mianite and his  _ champions. _ Plural. That meant Ianite acknowledged Sonja as Mianite’s loyal follower and champion just as much as Tucker. Sonja deserved it for all the effort she had put into this world and the last. She deserved a lot more than she got.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Wag startled at the sound of Sonja’s voice. He turned to her, but she was looking at the temple still. She inclined her head towards it, saying nothing more.

He had been looking at the temple without seeing it, he realised. Thinking too hard.

She was right. The sun was still low in the sky, giving it a faintly fiery hue. It couldn't have been too long since sunrise, yet the color of dawn still remained. Perhaps that was just the effect of the ocean.

But the effect made the temple light up. The eagle, standing mighty and proud once more, was burning in the light, smoldering and strong, wings raised up to the sky with an open, shrieking cry. It was the symbol of strength and sureness, of justice. The sun was a halo around it, blindingly bright.

That’s how the future felt: burning and bright, impossible to grasp. But it was there.

The rest of the temple held much of the same vigor. The majority of the original details were kept, but they were also exaggerated. The pillars had been built double the size, a subtle comment of  _ ‘no matter how many times you knock us down we will return stronger’ _ , the garden fuller and more organized, filled to the brim with blooming blossoms. The walls were filled with more gold than before, and more detail. Each column was carefully carved to perfection, but at this distance he couldn’t make all the details out. From what he remembered they ranged from majestic creatures running amok, to people dancing in celebration, to the retelling of great battles. The arches that served as the entrance had been decorated to the fullest, lavish silks and jewels hanging from their edges along the dutifully crafted gold lining.

The best part were the guardians. They stood tall and proud, just as regal as before but now with more life, more color. Rather than the same straight white they had been they were adorned with golds and blues. Shimmering prismarine and lapis lazuli. Their swords were colored to appear like the finest, purest gold- though Wag knew that they weren’t made of real gold, as that would have been more than expensive. To top it all off, each featured a set of wings raised high to the sky, like the very eagle that sat in the middle of the temple.

Another important detail was the fact that the back of the temple was open as well, likely for passing boats to see. On the other side stood dual lighthouses that burned bright in the night with mystical fire that would neither go out or be moved from their place. The area to drop prayers had been moved to the eagle’s feet and the hidden room supposedly not implemented. Supposedly.

It was truly stunning. Where the change in Jerry’s Tree felt like a rebirth, this felt like getting beaten down only to get up again. Like healing. Growing.

“It is.” He’d left her in silence long enough. “I still remember when it first appeared. It was glorious. Now?” Wag turns to her, maybe trying to make a point, maybe trying to say something deep, or just maybe just thinking out loud. “After being destroyed? It’s come back better.”

Damn, who the hell turned on the philosophy today? Next thing you know he’ll be wondering aloud what existence is and if there is a purpose to life.

Fuck that shit.

Isn’t this the exact thing that had been haunting him as he stowed away in his tower? His thoughts falling over themselves to derive meaning out of every little thing that’s changed? To make sense of it? The temple looks better because it's not a pile of rubble. Jerry’s Tree is different because it was practically a pile of ash before. Why does this all need meaning?

Sonja seemed to share his sentiment. She laughed at him. “Hey now, that’s trying to be too deep for so early in the morning. Come back better? Ha. It's just,” she pauses, giving it a wistful glance before shaking her head. “Different.”

Wag nods. “It is. It all is. Feels like everything’s changing, like we got plopped in a world just adjacent to ours.”

“Too deep!” Sonja decreed. Standing up, she brushed the back of her legs free of stray grass and sand. “Things are going to change and that’s that. I wasn’t expecting the world to wait on us, and it didn’t. That just means we have to catch up or get left in the dust.”

“Who’s too deep?” Wag chuckled to himself, taking the hand Sonja offered him.

“Alright, enough sitting around.” She sent a sly smile over to him after she jammed the rest of her muffin in her mouth. Wag watched in amusement as she chewed hastily, tried not to choke, and spluttered a little as some went down the wrong hatch.

Recovering fast, she gives him a pained grin. “What brings Mr. Tower Wizard out of the lair today? Something good, I hope.” She poked him in the ribs teasingly.

“Well,” Wag starts, ignoring the dig, “Martha happened to be home last night and I had the pleasure of walking her over to Jordan’s to chat about something. Which is why I am both awake before lunch and currently standing outside. I figured it’d been a while since I bothered you, so here I am, bothering you.” He finished with a wink.

Sonja frowned for a moment, focusing on something he said, before deciding to let it go. For now, at least. Knowing her, she’d find a way to bring it up later. Wag wasn’t quite looking forward to whatever she had latched onto.

Filling the silence, Wag added, “I was thinking we could go plant hunting. Specifically for four leaf clovers, but also for any other potentially useful plants. You know, for potions.”

He tried for a smile while Sonja looked him over. Her eyebrows rose. “You go plant hunting in that? Your typical robes and all? It’s, like, the middle of spring.”

Wag shrugged. “It’s not that big of a difference. Just gets the cloak a bit dirty.”

She scoffed. “Just gets the cloak a bit dirty,” Sonja muttered. “I bet you don’t even bring any food or water with you, do you?”

He looked to the side. “Of course I do!” That wasn’t a lie. He always brought at least a snack and a water skin. He wasn’t that stupid.

“I’ll believe you, for now.” She assessed her own outfit. Her typical hoodie over a white t-shirt, some lounge pants, and bare feet. “I, for one, need to get dressed. I would recommend,” she drew out the last word, giving him a look, “That you change into something more suitable for romping around the countryside. I won't force you to, but I won't be helping you if you get hot and sweaty and pass out like an idiot.”

He wanted to retort that he wouldn’t. That he was a wizard with powers that came close to the gods’ themselves. That weather was no issue for him.

But it had been in Ruxomar. The trip to Urulu had been sweltering. The Nether felt like it had been trying to slowly boil him alive. Whenever he’d come out of water, clothes damp as a rain shower, he’d felt frigid.

It still felt like he was in Ruxomar, powerless and startlingly mortal. 

He bit his tongue.

Instead he shook his head, and started to wander back to his tower. He stopped as Sonja called after him. “Meet right here after you get dressed. I’ll round up some food and shit and then we can leave.” She turned to head back into her house. “If you thought I was going to trek up to your tower up in the sky you were wrong!” Then she shuffled up the hill with a laugh.

~~~

They convened later at the shore as told. Sonja looked at Wag with a little glee, having convinced him to actually change. 

Athar knows how long it’d been since he’d changed.

… why did he swear on Athar’s name anyway? He helped kill him. Shouldn’t he swear on his own name? Wag shrugged mentally to himself. Better to swear on a dead guy's name than his own.

Anyway. Sidetrack.

Wag, instead of his usual cloak, was in surprisingly adventure-ready getup. Long sleeve hooded shirt- Sonja rolled her eyes at the hood- thick, but breathable, pants, and hiking boots. Actual hiking boots. That spoke volumes about how much Wag had tried to look like he knew what he was doing. Oh, and he had one of those handy dandy belt satchels? Utility belts? A belt that had neat pouches on it for carrying flowers and clovers. Hell yeah.

Sonja, on the other hand, had dressed much more like her usual outfit. To be fair, though, her usual outfit was both light and what she fought literal battles in. However, instead of short-shorts she had knee-length shorts. Her socks fit nicely underneath. Somewhere along the line she’d found black, fingerless gloves as well. Wag had a sneaking suspicion that she’d stolen them from Tucker.

“Alright, now that we’re all ready to go-” Sonja made a point of jostling the backpack she had slung over her shoulders, likely filled with food and drinks she had raided from her own kitchen,”-we can commence our dainty flower picking session. If you don’t find me the biggest, bluest flower the world has ever seen to leave for Mianite then this trip is a failure.”

Wag nods sagely. “It will be the most magical of flowers ever seen.” With a sweep of his arm, he motions for Sonja to lead the charge into the wilderness. Which wilderness?  _ The  _ Wilderness.

Basically they were going to go wander around out past the old FyreUK Castle. Why there? Where Wag has to look at the castle and remember everything that used to be? Easy: there’s a lingering magic that lurks about the castle that makes it more likely for magical flora to sprout and grow. Also because no one goes over there.

Mostly because no one goes over there.

It took them roughly a half hour of trailing up and down hills, through dry grass and loose dirt, and a few quick hops through water to get to the Castle. Good old FyreUK HQ. Still standing.

They were on the bridge, stopping to take a rest. Wag took a sweeping glance of the Castle and then looked away. Sonja tactfully didn’t ask about it. Instead, she waited while Wag poked around the trees sitting in the circle part of the bridge, watching him prod at the vines and undergrowth that had gathered there over the years. At one point he took out a pair of clippers, untangled a flowering vine from one of the tree’s branches, and politely snipped part of it off and curled it into a pocket.

Then they were off again, back down the bridge and further into the country. Not too much further, actually. The end of the bridge was just a hop, skip, and jump away from an oak forest, which was a breath of fresh air compared to the endless savannah and desert motif of the island. It was also right next to a nice little plains area.

Which made it perfect for Wag’s plans. Plains for the clovers and cool flowers, the forest for any other interesting stuff. He remembered chilling there in between building sessions for FryeUK HQ itself. It was always much cooler than the area around it.

“Well, darling dearest, here we are.” Wag gave a little twirl. “Here we shall find you the most magical of flowers for your pretty, pretty princess, Mianite himself. And maybe one for his maid, Tucker.”

“Ha!” Sonja turns her head away to snicker to herself. “If anything his fairest maid should be giving  _ me _ flowers!” Her laughter dropped into a small, wistful smile. “Maybe I will.”

Wag gave her a description of some of the regular flowers and plants that he normally went for, then sauntered off into the woods.

Classy.

Sonja followed with a fond eye roll, eyeing flowers as they passed. True to Wag’s suspicions, -which weren’t suspicions so much as things he already knew from before, but who was keeping track?- there were some strange, magical flora laying about. Not magical in the ‘consume it to get temporary fire powers way’, but more magical in the ‘these colors aren’t something flowers can pull off on their own’ or ‘this shouldn’t ever have been able to get this big’. Like if they were subject to radiation, except this world had no concept of yellorium as far as he knew.

The first thing Wag collected was something of a marvel. Not because it was beautiful, but because it was weird. It looked like a flower. But instead of growing leaves along the stem, it grew petals. They were a soft pink, like the flush of skin, and soft to the touch. Not a trace of leaves remained on the flower. For all intents and purposes, it looked like a failed daisy. Or a successful one?

There weren’t many magical flowers, in all honesty. For all the magic the wizards had done, most of it was just absorbed into the earth as per normal. The world was teeming with magic, but that was what made it function. What made the gods gods was the fact that they could use this magic. Or, rather, that they, too, were filled with it.

It showed up in a lot of ways. Witches, potions, the way you could grow anything from any environment you wanted to, so as long as you gave it what it needed. Well, that last one wasn’t impossible, but what other world could you go to a desert, with minimal rain and the sweltering sun, and plant something that relies on constant water to thrive and have it live for months upon months?

He was getting sidetracked again.

The point was, this was just a small, insignificant place where a little bit of magic overflowed because of the proximity to the wizards. It used to have more weird things happen, but now the wizards were gone and Wag was… yeah. So he’d sometimes stumble upon a flower with a gradient from purple to red and have to puzzle out whether that was a normal mutation or a magical one. Then the flower would shimmer and the gradient would shift and he’d decide, yeah, that  _ was  _ a magical mutation, he was right!

Flowers were weird on their own, what could he say?

His favorite were the cornflowers. Not because they were beautiful- they were!- but because, by some manner of magic, they migrated over here on their own. You couldn’t find them in the savannah, or the desert, or even near the coastline. But here, in this tiny blip of forest and plains, they surfaced. He had half a mind to wonder if they weren’t a result of two different flowers populating, then the offspring mutating. Cornflowers, however, were a real flower. They just shouldn’t be real  _ here. _ Which was cool.

So maybe Wag had become something of a flower nut over the past few weeks. Who was going to judge him, the gods? Well, fuck them! Not literally, though.

The cornflowers before him, however, were something special. From what he knew, they weren’t supposed to be this big, nor were they supposed to grow in such small units. They should be something more like a bush, with multiple stalks sprouting out and huddled together. The ones he found, Sonja poking at some poppies behind him, were very much trying to act like tulips. Less group-y and more individual.

He suspected magic was involved.

The buds alone were about the size of his palm, and those that had flowered were almost bigger than his hand! They were marvelous. And blue!

Wag snuck a look at Sonja, who was blissfully unaware of his sudden bout of mischief. He plucked a stalk- which was as thick as a pencil- and twisted around to carefully tickle the tip of her tail with the broken end of the stem. She didn’t notice, face scrunched up in thought as she appeared to be trying to decide if the poppies were out of the ordinary or not. They weren’t. Just good ole regular poppies.

Fighting back a snicker, he gently and slowly trailed the stem upward. It took the stem going from white to orange fur for Sonja to suddenly startle, ears shooting up and back going ramrod straight. She took a swipe at the flower, but Wag hurried out of the way. Clutching the poor, innocent cornflower to his chest, he mock gasped.

“Sonja! You almost destroyed the biggest, bluest flower I’ve ever seen!” He brought the back of his hand to his forehead. “Could you imagine if you had? We’d have to return with it crushed! Or worse.” Wag’s eyes widened comically. His voice dropped to a stage whisper. “The  _ second _ biggest, most bluest flower.”

She gasped in shock. Her voice was but a mutter. “No, we can’t have that. Imagine! Bringing home something second best! T'would be not only a shame, but a disrespect to his name. I could never.”

Wag nodded sagely. He cradled the blossom between his hands, reverently offering it up to Sonja. “Treat it well. Though it may seem insignificant in the grand scheme of your life, it holds value untold. The gods themselves tremble beneath its weight, the tremors of the earth quake for its life. Hold onto this and you hold onto what men are willing to go to war for.”

Sonja delicately grasped its stem, a serious look on her face. “I will, O’ great wizard. I will guard this to my last breath, travel across a thousand seas, five hundred miles of land, to bequeath this to the god of which I hold most dear.”

Her lips twitched as she tried to keep her laughter in. “Ianite, of course.”

Wag, however, burst out laughing. “Oh yes, the god you follow, Ianite herself. Mianite who?”

Facade breaking, Sonja joined in the laughter. Placing the flower down, she held onto her stomach, curling around it. Wag tried not to fall over from his dramatic kneel.

They took a second to calm down, smiles still firm on their faces.

“But yes, this will be satisfactory as a gift to Mianite.” Sonja appraised it, looking past him to eye the bush it came from. “What are these flowers? I don’t think I’ve seen them before.” She looked back to Wag. “And I dabbled in Botania in the other realm.”

Wag stood up, turning his attention back to the flora. “Cornflowers. They live in more temperate climates; plains, some forests, and such. It’s strange to have found them here, all things considered.” He gestures around vaguely. “We do live in a mostly savannah environment. I’m not even sure how they made it to this little patch of paradise, never mind the fact that this area exists as it does.”

He shrugs. “It is what it is. They are rather pretty. They are most typically associated with hope, devotion, and remembrance.”

“And,” He places a hand on his heart, “According to some good ol’ folk tales, men in love would carry them around. If the color of the flower faded quickly, it meant their love was not returned. So,” Wag picked it back up, “If you wanted to listen to supersticion, if the color lasts that means Mianite cares a whole lot about you.”

Sonja scoffed. “Oh please, he is far too regal and orderly to fancy anyone, never mind a human. Or, well,” she flicks her tail, “someone mostly human.”

“Imagine if he actually did, though! Tucker would be in for quite the competition. Champion of Mianite? Try Queen of Mianite.” Wag winked, holding the flower back out to her.

Except it seemed that was the wrong thing to say.

She held her breath, wilting before him “Yeah,” Sonja mumbled at the flower, “Tucker would really be in for it.”

There was a pause.

Wag eased back down towards the ground, getting comfortable. He tugged on Sonja’s sleeve to bring her down as well. Setting the flower aside, he pondered his next words. If he was going to pull out any wisdom, it better be now.

“Things aren’t going too great between you two, are they?” Wag started, giving her the option to push the conversation aside.

Sonja was silent for a second. Her ears flicked back and forth, agitated. Then she let out a sigh, deep and heavy.

“No.”

Wag nodded slowly. “It’d help to talk about it.”

He wanted to help, wanted to know more, but he didn’t want to press. He wouldn’t dare push the boundaries when it felt like he was already on the brink of losing someone else he cared about. A two for two special on failing relationships would hurt.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he reminded himself that this was about Sonja. Not his life problems. Hers!

“It’s…” she cast her eyes around them. “Kinda heavy. Would you be ok hearing about it? I don’t want to bring your mood down.”

Wag gently bumped shoulders with her. “Of course. I’m all ears if you ever need it.”

Sonja opted for a smile, though it fell more towards a grimace. “Thanks.”

She went quiet again. Wag could see the thoughts churning in her head, gears clicking and turning along.

“I was.” She stopped. Started again. “I used to be.” Biting her lip, she took a breath. “There was a brief moment of time that I worked for the Shadows.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

She couldn't meet his eyes, which is probably a good thing because he didn’t know what to say. ‘Sorry that you used to work for the people who wanted to kill all the gods and take over the world, or some stupid thing like that’? ‘Yikes’?

‘Cause yikes.

“That’s, well, not what I was expecting.” He suppressed the urge to crack a joke. “And yeah, that’s pretty heavy.”

Sonja drooped a little beside him, and he had to rush in the rest of his words.

“But that’s not the end of the world. You aren’t working for them anymore, and even if you were you have been my friend and helped save so many people that I feel that it wouldn’t matter. Your actions say more about your character than who you follow does.” He hoped that curbed her fear and doubt, if only for a moment. And, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “Hey, look at Tom. He’s a little chaos rat who followed a real evil guy and we still love him. The standards can’t get lower than that.”

She huffed, and Wag counted that as a win.

She took a peek at him. “You took that a lot better than Tucker did.”

Suddenly, it clicks. She told Tucker, the ultimate devotee of Mianite, who had been willing to follow an evil version of his god just because he had the same name as his actual god. Tucker, who held strong to his beliefs and only turned on the Other Mianite when he went too far. Tucker, who’s devotion to Mianite came after little else, if after anything at all.

Tucker would not only have been appalled that she faltered in her devotion to Mianite, but felt down right betrayed that she would work for someone who wanted to  _ kill his god. _

Tucker wasn’t Tom. He wasn’t willing to work for a god that was near unanimously seen as chaotic, destructive, and evil. But he would also be easily blinded by the misdeeds of his god after seeing only the good in him for so long. He wouldn’t kill his god for his friends, he wouldn’t save his friends from his god. If Mianite told him to kill, he would.

He had killed the Ianitas under the Other Mianite’s command.

So Sonja, regardless of how much he loved her, telling him she had been part of the Shadows? 

Wag could only imagine his reaction.

Instead of making much comment on Tucker, Wag offered her a smile. “The Shadows don’t mean as much to me.” That got her to look up. “I’m- I was a wizard, remember?” 

Meeting her eyes, he saw the start of understanding. Then it struck him- he never told her how he became a wizard. “Sonja.” It was his turn to look away. “Do you know about the Cult of Athar?”

She mouthed the words, face scrunching up. Silently, she shook her head. “The Cult of Athar was formed in the name of Athar, who was a god. Or close to one. They weren’t sure of that, at the time they formed the Cult, but he was. Instead, they thought he was a godly power that existed and was given to those who were worthy. In a way, they weren’t wrong.”

“Was?” Already she was picking up on the ending.

“We’ll get to that.” Wag picked at the grass in front of him. “The Cult was made of four mortal people. They studied, they trained, they crafted, they worked their assess off to get a glimpse of the Athar. Nothing worked.”

Sonja nodded, eyes searching Wag’s face. Connecting dots. Her gaze lingered on his dark skin and endless tears of blood. It wouldn’t be long before she pieced it together.

“One day, they found an ancient scroll.” Sonja scoffed at this detail. “Look, I know it’s cliche but this is my story I’m telling and you will suffer through any cliche moments in it. I  _ will _ add a magical girl transformation scene in here just to spite you.” They held each other’s gaze for a moment.

Then both burst out laughing. With a fond shake of her head, Sonja shoved him gently. “Who’s to say you won't anyway?”

With a mock offended gasp, Wag dramatically clutched his heart. “How could you. I guess you don’t want the story of this freaky, weird cult of absolute dorks.”

“No, no, I do. Please continue, Mr. Extravagant Storyteller.”

Holding back a smile, Wag started back up. “In this scroll was a ritual. According to the scroll, if you performed the ritual you could summon down the god that possessed the power of Athar- who was actually called Athar so really calling the ‘godly power’ Athar was redundant. By calling him down you could duel him for the right to hold that power and use it yourself.”

He trailed off now. It seemed, now of all times, that the reality of what he had lost sunk in. “By defeating Athar, who was a selfish, greedy god, they themselves could become gods among mortals. But they vowed to be benevolent, loving gods. Gods who would help humanity unlike that who came before them. They wanted to make a change in the world, to help build it up in the name of peace and prosperity.”

“So they killed him?” 

Wag nodded.

“You were one of them, weren’t you?” Sonja pressed gently. “And the rest of the wizards, too?”

He nodded again.

When he made no further comment, she spoke again. “I always wondered how you guys became wizards. I just figured you guys were born from, I don’t know, dragons or something. Something badass like that. Or maybe just one day you guys popped into existence all like, ‘Golly gee, there’s an open plot of land here, and I sure do feel like making something. You guys want to build? I want to build.’” 

Wag laughed despite himself. “I wish we were dragons. That’d be so much cooler than waltzing up to a god and telling him you’d be better at his job.”

“No, I think that’s still pretty badass.” She slowly leaned over to rest on his shoulder.

The sun was just starting to fall from its highest peak, making it just past noon. They still had a whole day ahead of them, if they pleased. But there was something settling about sitting here, with a friend, letting your secrets loose.

“The point is,” Wag rested his head on hers, “That I’ve actually killed a god. I formed a cult with the intent of becoming godlike. You joining the Shadows? For whatever reason? I’m not that phased. Sure, the Shadows wanted to kill all the gods, even the nice ones, but I’m not about to go cherry picking which gods can and cannot live. You guys didn’t kill Dianite until he almost killed Ianite. Eye for an eye, y’know?”

They were silent after that. Just sitting there, looking out into the mix and blend of savanna, plains, and desert. This didn’t fix anything for Sonja, he knew, but at the very least she knew she had an ally, a friend through all of this.

“Thank you,” Sonja blurted. “It’s. I feel better knowing someone won’t ostracise me for my past.”

“No one is going to ostracise you!” Rolling his eyes, Wag turned to look at her. “And if they do they’re a bitch and you didn’t need them in the first place.”

“I don’t know. Tucker was really upset. I think I’ve burned any relationship we had.” She pulled her legs up to wrap her arms around. “I’m afraid that he won’t even be able to look at me. What would Jordan think? What would Tom? Or Dec or Champ? What would the gods?”

Wag wrapped an arm around her. “It’s going to be a shock, for sure.”

But the thing was, she was still their friend.

“Jordan will take it with suspicion and unease, which is usual for him. But, for all that he will be wary, he will still be your friend. Honestly?” He squeezed her arm. “Your situation isn’t new to us, not exactly.”

An ear flicked against his cheek. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Wag blew on it and it flicked again, “There’s Tom’s whole thing.”

She lifted her head at this. A frown tugged at her lips. “What? What do you mean by that?”

Ah, Wag had a feeling that she hadn’t thought about this.

“Tom was the loyal champion of this world’s Dianite.” He was trying to lead her into the connection. It’d be easier for her to relate if she figured it out on her own.

“So?”

However, that meant she had to figure it out.

“I suppose it’s a little harder to see from your perspective. Tom, the friend you guys all love despite his love of chaos, stealing, and murder,” He stressed the murder part, “was the champion of the god you had to kill to stop from killing Ianite.”

Sonja blinked at him.

Maybe it wasn’t as obvious as he thought.

“Tom was loyal to Dianite above all else. He’d kill for him, he’d die for him, he was practically a lapdog at points, eagerly wanting to please him. Even when he failed him and was punished.” Wag shook his head fondly. “He would have killed Ianite if Dianite asked.  _ He would have killed Ianite _ .”

Tom would have done a lot of things for Dianite. The Shadows wanted to recruit him for his burning loyalty to who he followed and his willingness to kill and destroy.

It was starting to click in Sonja’s head. Her frown became less confused and more thoughtful.

“Maybe it was hard to see, since you were much closer to him than I was at the time, but Tom was set against all of you. Yet he still wanted to be your friend. He still wanted the best for you- when it didn’t involve him stopping his own chaos and fun- because he cared about you guys. In fact, he repeatedly stole from you and killed you, and he’s  _ still  _ your friend.”

She was there. So, so close. Right on the edge of a breakthrough.

“But Tom was,” she waved a hand, “Tom.”

And there it was. The thing that she held her back. The thing that pulled at her conscious in this whole debacle.

“So?” Wag wasn’t going to pull any punches. “Why are you holding him to a different standard than yourself? If he gets a pass, if he can follow someone who’s intent was destruction and death, just like the Shadow’s was, in a way, why can’t you?”

Sonja was silent. She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Her eyes went wide.

Gently, he squeezed her shoulder. “Jordan is still friends with Tom. Tucker is still friends with Tom. They both suffered at his hands, but they’re still friends. They still care about him. Just because you served, for some brief time, an entity that was just as evil as Dianite had been, at one point, doesn’t mean they’ll stop caring about you.”

“What about Tom, then?” She straightened up, something stirring in her eyes. “What would he think?”

Wag held back a laugh. “He wouldn’t care? Remember Nadeshot? Remember Cronus? He was friends with both.” Sonja gave him a look. “Oh come one, this one should have been obvious. Nadeshot told Tom he joined the Shadows, and what did Tom do? He had the us- the wizards- build him a fucking castle. The last person who would give a shit about you being part of the Shadows- having  _ used  _ to be part of- would be Tom!”

Sure, she looked like she was about to punch him, but it was a little ridiculous to think that Tom would give a shit about something like that.

Wag turned his head away. “Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing. This is a very serious situation and I should try my best to stay serious.”

“Yeah, you should.” Sonja gave him a light punch to the arm, “Asshole.”

“But the thing is, we’re still going to be here for you. We’ve been to a whole other world, we fell through the void together. You’ve had our backs from day one. We’ll always have yours.” He ended with a gentle smile.

Sonja settled back down, head on his shoulder once more. “That does make me feel a little better. But things won’t be the same. Nothing will, really.”

That was true. They would probably look at her different, in a new light. They’d reconsider some things, rethink what image they had of her. But at the end of the day, they’d still be together.

As Wag set his head back down atop hers, she whispered, “I guess things haven’t really been the same in a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stuff about the Cult of Athar is actual canon! It's not as well known as it was a Wizard side-quest sort of thing, mostly kept in books. Athar wasn't exactly a "god", but he was considered powerful. And the power he had was "meant to help the people in the world" and Athar did not agree with that haha.
> 
> As usual, thanks for reading and I'll see you with a new chapter next Wednesday <3


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wag thinks about a lot of things, talks to some people, and finally figures out what to do about Martha

The trek home was much more light hearted. More dramatacisms about the flower, a joke about Wag’s weed quest here, and easy banter shared back and forth. Wag would like to think that Sonja looked more relaxed on the way back, like a weight fell off her shoulders.

But that was an ongoing battle. It would be some time before it really fell away.

Of course, halfway home Sonja dropped another bombshell.

“I think I’m going to break up with Tucker.” Sonja spoke up.

Wag tried not to visibly startle. No, he didn’t see this coming. Should he have? Maybe. Actually, he expected Tucker to be the one to end it, after the whole Shadow’s business.

And here Wag was, staring at her like a fish struggling to breathe.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t look so surprised. It’s going to happen whether I bring it up or not.”

“Are you breaking up with him because you’re afraid he’s going to break up with you?” He was still trying to pick his jaw off the floor.

“Hmm.” Sonja considered this for a moment. “Yes, but also no. I’m not afraid he’s going to, I just have a strong feeling he will. At the very least, we’d need to take a break since all of-,” she gestures to herself vaguely, “-this happened. And, honestly?” Her head tilted to the side. “It’s probably for the best. I do love Tucker, and it will take some time to let those feelings simmer and fade if we do break up, but I think we’ve been… drifting from each other for a while.”

“What?” His eyes snapped back to hers. “Really?”

Sonja nodded. “This wasn’t our first fight. Or, well, falling out. Things were fine before we jumped into the void, but we didn’t agree with how to handle the new world. How to handle Ruxomar’s Mianite.”

Wag nodded slowly. He wouldn’t know the difference. If he was being honest, he didn’t really know the other heroes that well before Ruxomar happened. He was a wizard, tasked with building, magical in every sense, and he had his own squad. The most he had thought of Tucker and Sonja’s relationship was when he helped build their home.

She sighed. “Tucker was very intent on following that Mianite. Ever the devotee. Granted, Tom and Jordan were the same with their gods but theirs were… different? I guess? Ianite wasn’t around, to start, and Dianite was dead. But we always had an idea on Mianite.”

Her tail swished behind her and she grabbed it for a moment, running her hand down its length before letting go. “He was who all of Dagrun worshipped.” Her voice took on a darker tone. “Or were supposed to worship. Tucker only wanted to believe the best of Mianite. I wasn’t quite with it. We would fight, sometimes, about Mianite, or something he did, or what his effect on the town was. Then there was the Ianitas, there was Inertia, there was-” She took a breath. “There was a lot.”

Turning to look at Wag, she gave him a smile and a shrug. “It got a bit tense between us, for a while. Well, it has been tense. Things didn’t really cool off until we were floating aimlessly in the void, again, and we had time to think and talk it out.”

“So you think that with your whole Shadows business coming out you guys need some time apart? To let the tension simmer down?” It was starting to make some sense. Let time and distance see if the heart will grow fonder or if the mind will let go.

Or something like that.

“Kind of.” Sonja turned back towards their destination. “I just. I don’t know if after this we’ll be able to make it work anymore. And if we can’t I’d rather end it on good terms than, I don’t know, explosive, world shattering, terrible terms?”

“Basically, you still want to be friends if things don’t work out.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

They walked in silence after that. A comfortable one, but heavy nonetheless. Wag had a lot to think about. He was about to go through a break-up too. Should he say something? Ask her about it? Martha and him didn’t really have any rough, tense things that were breaking them apart. They hadn’t fought, or brought up dark, hard secrets. It was just a falling apart. They still loved each other.

There was just someone missing.

And there was nothing Wag could do to make up for that hole Steve had left.

He looked back at Sonja, who was casually thumbing one of the petals of the cornflower they’d picked out for Mianite. She was lost in thought, but there was a determined look in her eyes. She was moving in the right direction. Growing, letting change come through.

Wag wanted nothing more than to plant his feet in the ground and stay where everything was easy. Easier. But the world had other plans.

In the end, when they made it back home, Wag hadn’t said anything. There was a place inside him that was afraid of speaking his decision into words. Afraid that if he said he was going to break up with Martha that things would start to fall apart.

He sure hoped not.

\---

Wag spent the rest of the day sorting out the flowers they’d found and parsing through potion orders. Most of what they’d picked were more natural- flowers, some vines, and a butt load of four leaf clovers. Which so happened to grow more frequently in the area they’d gone to.

He knew from experience.

The potion orders were easy enough to set up. He’d finished boxing and tagging all the luck potions- there were only three left to do- and scheduled a shipment time, which meant going to his mail cart and placing in a whole crate of them for the post office to deliver for them.

This area had a post office now, freshly installed around the time the town popped up. Convenient for wizards who didn’t get out much.

Then he organized the rest of his current potions in terms of difficulty- easy ones go first- and picked up any new orders from the mail.

Boring, boring, boring.

Once he’d set all of that up he took to his greenhouse. Tended to his plants. Checked on his latest crossbreeding project. It was still developing, but he checked each stage for weed-adjacent properties. None yet.

And then, silence. Nothing to do. He could eat, he could sleep, he could read until his eyes bled. Oh, wait. Scratch that. He could read until his eyes dried out.

He rolled said eyes at that train of thought. In reality, he was just going to go to sleep. The sun had just set, which was excuse enough for him. Sure, he could research his magic related issues, or his weed related quest, or something, but he’d done enough thinking today. Had enough problem sorting.

But as he laid down to sleep, clad in sweatpants and a simple gray shirt this time, he was wide awake.

There was an unsettled buzz humming beneath his skin. Something restless and worried. Things were changing faster than he wanted them to. 

Sure, he could take a town forming, he could take new people showing up, he could take the Ruxomar people living here, all of that was fine. New things weren’t as hard to keep up with.

But the old things changing?

Seeing Sonja’s and Tucker’s relationship crumble, seeing Jerry’s Tree change, Mianite’s Temple change, being left behind by his fellow wizards. Everything to do with Martha. It was like life was starting to move on without him, and Wag was still left knee deep in everything that had happened. The past was clinging to him, dragging him down, stopping him from reaching into the future, practically tearing him from the present.

How long until he didn’t recognize the people around him? How long until they grew so far from him that he really became just some random guy making potions in a tower? Would people care? Would they think back and wonder what happened to him?

It hurt to think about. If Wag had his way, he’d banish the thoughts from his head forever, but things have a strange way of crawling back when you don’t want to think about them. Still, it was a struggle. Everything felt like it was moving too fast, like Wag was too far behind to catch up.

He really should try to get out more.

But why? So he can watch things change? So he can look on helplessly as the world around him becomes something new? What’s worse, seeing change happen and being unable to keep up, or stepping out of your house one day to see that nothing was the same?

Wag rolled over.

_Dear Athar this is not what I want to be thinking about_. 

He’d just have to do his best to keep up. To claw his way back to the present when the past tries to drag him down. If he can at least stay with it, change won’t feel so bad. If he’s in the thick of it, surely he, too, will feel it? Will change for the better.

Wag sure hoped so.

The distant sound of bells broke his thoughts. His doorbell, to be exact.

By now it was the dead of night and any right-minded person was sleeping right now. Or trying to. Wag considered whether it would be better to stay in bed, wallowing, or get up and see what’s what.

Another ring urged him to rise.

He spiralled down, and down, and down his stairs, his room being at the top of the tower. Wag missed elevators so much. Maybe he could be the man to pioneer the elevator. Start with a simple pulley system, like they use in mines, and work up from there.

Letting go of that train of thought, he finally reached the bottom floor and strode over to yank the front door open.

It was Tom.

“Bought time you showed up mate, I thought I was gonna hafta walk up there to get you myself,” Tom chirped. “Oh!” He leaned in. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Wag gave him a deadpan look. “Didn’t you just say you would have gotten me up if I hadn’t answered?” Tom grinned at him cheekily. “Thought so. And, for the record, no. I was pondering life’s mysteries like one normally does at,” He squinted into the outdoors. “Whatever fucking time it is.”

“Wonderful! May I come in?” Tom asked, already walking in.

“Be my guest.” Wag made an aborted movement to complain about the fact he walked in anyway, but thought better of it.

Tom wandered the foyer for a moment, trying to get out extra energy, before he flopped onto Wag’s mediocre couch. Wag knew he ought to offer food and drink, but it was too late at night for him to care. Instead, he took a seat beside Tom, whose head was leaning over the back of the couch.

“It’s been a while, huh?” Tom’s face was lacking his normal energy. Like the act of sitting let it all out. His hands, however, fluttered nervously, fingers drumming, palms smoothing down his pants.

“We saw each other yesterday.” Wag regretted not getting a drink. He was feeling Tom’s restlessness. It would be nice to have something to do with his hands. “Not that long ago.”

Drawing his shoulders up, Tom released a sigh. “Long enough.”

Silence again.

“Have.” Tom stopped. He was mulling over his words, a rare occasion for someone who preferred to think on the fly. “Have you been doing alright recently?”

A strange question.

“Define recently.” Wag wasn’t about to open up another heart to heart discussion. One per day was enough.

“Y’know. Recently! Like, the past few days.”

_Try since we fell back into the world._

“I guess? I haven’t felt any different than before.”

This is where Tom’s eyes sharpened. He appraised Wag, took him in. Surely, what Tom saw was a tired, weary man. A Waglington far from his best. Hair messy, eyes dark, the strain of life held deep in his shoulders.

Except, none of his keener friends had noticed. Why would Tom?

“You haven’t been doing well for a while, huh?” 

Or, rather, why wouldn’t Tom?

Still, Tom being the one to notice was a shock.

Wag looked him in the eyes, held them for a moment, then looked away. That was answer enough, in his opinion.

“Shit,” Tom softened up, curling forward to rest his elbows on his knees, face pillowed in his fists. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Why? Well, there were a number of reasons. They bounced in his mind every time he thought to himself, _‘Would anyone care?’_

Feeling insignificant, feeling useless, hopeless, like after everything he’d done it didn’t mean anything.

Maybe he was depressed.

“I couldn’t. I didn’t know how- I,” Wag couldn’t find the words. “I didn’t want to bring everyone else down with my problems when they all have their own.”

Tom straightened up and turned towards him. Leaned in. Got close to his ear. “Wag.” His voice was breathy, light.

“That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

And loud. Fuck, did he have to get that close.

“It’s not dumb! It’s just how I felt. Feel.” Tom didn’t have to be a dick about it. “You guys do have shit going on, though! Everyone is trying to deal with their own crap, why would I add mine like a sour little cherry on top?”

Said asshole flopped on top of him, forcing Wag to lean back to accommodate Tom on his lap. “That’s not what I meant. How you feel is how you feel. What I meant is that we don’t give a shit about what all we have on our plates, we care about you.”

Wag moved to hold his head in his hands, making sure to dig his elbows into Tom’s back. “And I care about you enough to not want to worry you.”

“Wag.”

“Yes.”

“That’s-”

“Bullshit?”

“Bullshit.”

Tom wrapped his arms around Wag’s waist and snuggled in. Wag fell back into the couch. “Still. I don’t want to drag you down.”

“If we can’t deal with your problems, we’d let you know.”

“I’m sure.”

“I would, at least.”

Wag huffed. “I know you would. You like to let everyone know what’s on your mind.”

“Sometimes.” Tom’s voice was flat. It was unsettling.

“Do,” Wag rubbed soft circles into Tom’s back. “Do you have a problem you want to talk about.”

Tom buried his face into Wag’s stomach. “Yes,” his voice was muffled, but audible. “But not now. I’m here because I felt like you were thinking too hard and needed someone to talk to.”

That was interesting. He ‘felt’ like it?

“I appreciate it. But how-?” Tom squeezed his waist. It was a clear _not now._

“Did you want to talk about what’s up with you?” 

Wag shook his head, then realized Tom couldn’t see him. “No. I’ve had enough heart dumping today.”

They sat in silence again. 

“Are we gonna just lay here?” Tom said nothing. “Did you just wanna snuggle on the couch until one of us decides to get up?” 

Wag received a non-committal hum.

“Alright then, but if someone walks in on us here I’m going to have to tell them they we’re involved in a long standing affair.” Wag moved to lay alongside Tom on the couch, comfortably curling an arm around him. Tom responded with a quiet chuckle.

An easy silence washed back over them. Having Tom as a warm weight next to him was helping, surprisingly. Or maybe not surprisingly. It was harder to think about all the things that made you feel like shit when you had someone else holding your waist in a death grip. Was it a little painful? Yes. Did it help nonetheless? Also yes.

In the end, he was grateful Tom showed up.

\---

Wag woke up with a pain in his back and a groan. Which wasn’t terribly unusual, except he couldn’t remember what he did to get his back right to the point of aching without being downright horrible. Or why his neck would feel stiff.

Then, of course, there was the weight settled on his chest. Tom. Tom drooling on his chest.

Ever the good friend, Wag decided to help him wake up. By lovingly pushing Tom off him. Only to go crashing down to the floor as well when Tom, sensing movement, latched on tight.

“Aw, fuck,” were Tom’s first words of the morning, followed by a, “What the fuck.”

Wag shoved at Tom. “Let go. I love you too, but I would rather not sit on my couch all day.”

“Well, why not? That’s as good a way to spend a day as any.” Tom held on with an impish grin, still groggy from his sudden awakening.

“Aw, you guys looked so cute up there.” A voice from the stairs drew their attention. Martha. “And here I thought you guys were such good friends, cozying up to each other. I’d come down to give you a blanket, but I suppose you won’t be needing it now.”

True to word, a blanket was held in her arms. Wag flopped onto Tom, squishing him into the floor. “Oh, Martha dear, you are just a little off. You see, Tom and I here are not friends, we are-”

Tom jumped in, “Lovers. Have been since we met in our early teens. Sorry to break it to you, but Wag was mine first and I want him back.”

Martha’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so?” There was a teasing note in her voice. “Does that make me the rebound? Waggles, I can’t believe you would disgrace me so.”

_If anyone was the rebound,_ Wag thought, _it’s me._

“Yep!” Tom popped the ‘p’. “And now that we are well and fully together again, what shall we do with you.”

Wag rolled his eyes and sent Martha a wink. She hid a giggle behind her hand.

“Well, Tomothy, I have bad news for you.” Wag looked down into Tom’s eyes, giving his cheek a mock caress. “Martha is way cooler than you. She’s got purple hair, to start, and some spectacular magic tricks. I don’t know if you can compete with that.”

There was a flash of something in his eyes, and for a moment Wag saw Tom's mouth open only to be replaced by a dark, pained look. Then it was gone, replaced by Tom’s usual mischief.

“I can’t believe you!” Tom let go, finally, to push Wag away and roll to the side clutching his heart. “After all we’ve been through! That one time I gave you my meat! When we did drugs together! And you’re leaving me because my hair isn’t purple!”

He got up, dusting his legs off, and sashayed to the front door. “That’s fine, I’m too much of a boss ass bitch for you anyway. Ta ta, my not dearest. Until we never meet again!”

Then he was gone.

Martha piped up again, having moved to place the blanket on the couch. “As dramatic as always.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid I only stopped by to pick something up for Dad. I’ll be leaving as well.”

Wag pulled himself off the floor as she passed, giving her a smile. She hesitated before returning it.

She opened the door with a look over her shoulder. “Goodbye, love.”

And, just as she started to walk out, she muttered to herself, “Did Tom already make it down the mountain? Strange.”

Then Wag was alone. Again.

\---

It was midday when Wag found himself back at the bakery, quietly eating an apple tart while Gretchen eyed him from over the counter. There were a few customers here and there, though most of the village inhabitants out fishing for the day or working their craft. Wag, of course, ran on whatever schedule suited his needs per day.

Gretchen, who was preparing dough for tomorrow, was clearly waiting for him to say what was on his mind. He ducked his head farther into his hood.

He was that obvious, huh?

“So, how has your da-” Gretchen cut off his attempt at light conversation. “You asked when you came in. Try again.”

Stunned, he reconsidered his words. “What do you think of-” She cut him off with a click of her tongue.

Clearly, she was not taking any bullshit today. Which was unfortunate. Wag wanted nothing more than to fill his days with insignificant bullshit if that meant he never had to face his problems.

Fuck.

Why was asking for advice so hard?

Gretchen hummed quietly to herself. Wag finished the tart. Slowly licked his fingers clean. And came up with nothing to say.

A customer came and went. The door closed with a soft jingle of the bell at the top.

He broke.

“I need to break up with Martha and I don’t know how.”

Gretchen turned to him with a surprised and considering look. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“What?” He scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She paused in her ministrations. Wiped her hands off on her apron. Turning to him, she leaned against the counter. “I didn’t think you’d consider that you weren’t happy with your relationship. It’s clear as day that you two aren’t much of a couple. Whether you were before you got here ain't none of my business, but as you are now? I coulda mistaken you for friends, at best.”

_Oh._

Ouch.

“Yeah,” Wag trailed off. “I don’t, uh, I’m not really sure how much of a couple we were either. Back then. Do you mind if I,” he waved his hands half-heartedly, “vent a little?”

Gretchen gave him a fond head shake. “I already put the dough down, I’m all ears.”

“So, um.” He wasn’t sure where to start. When they first met? When he started thinking that he might like her? When he realized he loved her? When they got together?

Steve?

“Martha was already in a relationship when we met.” Gretchen raised an eyebrow but said nothing else. “The guy she was with was the farmer type, rough, could fix anything with a little elbow grease and a stern look. Followed Dianite, the new one.”

Wag took a second to figure out where he was going with this. “They were engaged, actually. And then broke it off later. Martha and I grew close after that. But the thing was- is- Martha still loves Steve. Misses him. But he’s-” He broke off, lost again.

“Dead?” His head snapped to her. She held her hands up. “Hey, you were talking about him all past tense, and from what I heard about whatever happened to that other place, if someone didn’t show up here after all that calamity, they aren’t going to show up ever. They’re gone.”

Yeah, he was. Steve was six feet under. Farther than that. He was lost to the void with Ruxomar. Lost to Dianite’s soul. Claimed by the acts of the past for a better future.

And look where that got them. 

“Yeah, he’s dead now. It killed her, I think. She lost her mother, had all this power, yet she could do nothing to stop Steve from dying, too.” Wag was beginning to connect some dots, the kind of dots you look at and roll your eyes and claim are just things that happen in shitty romance novels.

Gretchen had her head on her fist now, invested. “Why did they split?”

“Uh,” Wag struggled to recall the information. “Because... I think it was because Steve ‘moved around too much’.” He made air quotes. “Or went on too many missions for Dianite? I don’t know the details.”

“Oh, that’s no good.” When she saw Wag’s confused face, Gretchen continued. “If they split over something like that, there’s always a good chance they still loved each other. I’m afraid to say it, but you may have been the rebound.”

Wag hated to hear that. “Hey, she flirted with me before their relationship was over. It was a mutual flirting thing, too!”

Gretchen groaned. “You guys flirted, while she was in a relationship, that you knew about, and when it was over she came to you? That sounds suspiciously like needed comfort after leaving the love of her life and knew you could give her that.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but deflated like a two weeks old balloon.

Taking a breath, a wheeze at best, he tried again. “You don’t understand. Martha is, she’s amazing. She’s dedicated, and smart, and talented, and she’s always trying her best even under the pressure of being a demigod and having everyone look to you expecting greatness out of you.”

His heart was beating faster.

“And she’s polyamorous! She has room in her heart for more than one love, and we both knew that! Steve knew that! Martha didn’t rebound on me, exactly, but Steve and I had a mutual understanding that we both had places in Martha’s life and that was that.”

“She was kind, and caring, and only wanted the best for the people around her. There are so many amazing things about her.” His words were sweet but his voice was desperate.

“There’s no way she would be able to use someone- to use,” Wag grew quieter, “me, like that.”

Would she?

A hand on his arm startled him. Gretchen looked at him with soft eyes. “Hun, I don’t think she was truly ready for another relationship. She definitely didn’t go into it looking to use you. In fact, I’m sure she was in it because she loved you.”

She let go to move around the counter and lead him to a seat. “You can see it, sometimes, when she’s with you. The gentle fondness in her gaze, the warmth in the smiles she directs at you.” 

“But you can’t build a solid relationship without hashing through the issues and problems you have.” Gretchen rubbed up and down his arm. “And Martha being caught up on this Steve, that’s something you have to address. It’s no issue to love more than one person, but to let the love you feel for another get in the way of the love you feel for another is.”

“I just feel awful letting it go like this. I should have put in more effort, tried to bridge the gap more, done _something._ ” Wag was trying to keep his breathing steady. It was working, somewhat. “I’ve let myself get into such a fuckin’ rut that I can’t even keep track of everything.”

Gretchen pursed her lips. “If I may be so crass, you’ve let yourself get so hard focused on everything about you that you haven’t given the time to look at the people around you. Before yesterday, when was the last time you’d taken the time to catch up with your friends? How much of their lives do you know about?”

He wanted to say something, give a date, but he came up blank. “I’m trying my best.”

“You are, and I see that. But you can’t blame yourself all the way through. You’ve got to consider Martha’s view as well. Neither of you are the villain here, neither of you tried to sabotage or destroy your relationship. Both of you were just trying to feel like things were going alright while other pieces of your life fell apart.” Taking the seat next to him, she shook her head.

Again, he moved to say something, but she cut him off. “If you don’t think that those of us ‘round town don’t notice that you heroes have some shit going on, you’re wrong. We may be the more common around here, but we have eyes. Whatever happened to you, you can’t let it be the reason you get stuck in something that makes you more upset or hurt. Got it?”

Hesitant, he nodded. She didn’t know much about him, yet she could see right through him, huh? How obvious had he gotten in all his time spent away from people?

“You know, I didn’t come here to have a heart to heart about my emotional issues.” Wag tried for a teasing tone but fell a little off.

Gretchen took the bait. “No sir, you came here because you’re too much of a wuss to just go up to Martha and say ‘Love, I’m afraid this ain’t gonna to work out. Can we just be friends?”

“Ok, but she could literally electrocute me.”

“Ain’t gonna be any more painful then the dance you two are doing right now.”

He had no answer for that.

“That’s what I thought. And, if she’s as nice and amazing as you say she is, would she electrocute you?”

“No. But her uncle might.”

Gretchen laughed. “Ah yes, the new Dianite. That’d be a sight to see. ‘This man we’re all suspicious and wary of smiting a local and apparent hero! Is this man actually the second coming of an evil and villainous Dianite?’ That’d go over well.”

“Ok, so maybe I don’t need to worry about getting my ass cooked by a god. I’m still nervous.” Wag was, however, feeling a little better about the situation.

“Now, now. You shouldn’t get too comfortable.” A smile grew in her face, a devious look in her eye.

“Why?”

“Spark, you know, her father? The man who built this village, who we all respect and acknowledge as a good man? If he were to come around and to, I don’t know, teach you a lesson for hurting his daughter, none of us would bat an eye.”

“Gee, thanks. If you find me dead in a ditch you’ll know what happened.”

“Are you all ready then?” She stood, smoothing her apron. “Because I’m going to kick you out regardless if you say yes or no. If I let you stay here you might not leave.”

“I was going to say no, but I suppose I’ll wander off, then.” Wag stood as well. He shuffled in place for a moment while Gretchen returned to the other side of the counter. “Thanks. For, you know. All of that.”

She shook her head. “You better keep coming in and buying my goods. Call it an even deal.”

As he begun to walk out, he heard her call, “You’re welcome to come back if you need another talk!”

Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to.

\---

“Martha, I need to talk to you. About our relationship. I think it’s time to end it.”

Wag was back in his tower, pacing back and forth. No, he wasn’t running from the issue, he just had no fucking idea where Martha was. At all. He should have asked.

Oh well. Too late now.

Instead he had to make the choice of: wait for her at home or attempt to track her down. His decision was fairly obvious. The only issue with said decision was that he had was that there was no way to know when Martha would show up next.

It also occurred to him that Martha preferred not to come around. Shit.

Where would she be? She’d been talking to Jordan, at his request. Maybe they were still talking? But she’d come ho- come to the tower this morning. Why had she come over? What had she said?

Oh!

She was picking up something for Spark! That meant she was probably with him. Or, he’d know where she was.

…

He didn’t know where Spark was either.

“Damn, I wish I’d paid more attention to when Martha talked about Spark,” Wag muttered to himself, starting towards the door.

Then stopped.

First, Spark was intensely boring in his routine and life. Second, he still didn’t know where to find him.

He missed being able to teleport to people.

Alright, so maybe he should have shown interest in his potential father-in-law, but it was too late for that. He had to find Martha, and finding Spark might be easier. 

Who would know where he was? The townspeople might like him, but they all had their own lives. Still, he could ask around. Who had seen him more recently, other than Martha?

A thought struck him.

He face palmed.

Jordan. Not only had Jordan and Martha been talking, which meant he might know where she went, but Jordan complained about Spark lecturing him all the time. If he didn’t know where Martha was, he’d likely know where Spark was. Even if it was to make sure he could avoid him.

Alright, easy. Jordan was probably at his house. Tree. Tree house? He had a pretty good track record of keeping close to home, at least.

So off to Jordan’s it was.

\---

Today, Jerry’s Tree made him feel small. It was like it was looming over him as he ascended the hill. Grand and regal. It had seen death and destruction and met the challenge to come back better.

Wag did not feel like he was rising to a challenge so much as descending into a pit of pain. Sliding into a sweet embrace with death. Rolling into the grave.

Maybe he was being dramatic, but the thought of breaking up with Martha created more dread than he felt before in his life. 

In any case, it was as he pondered the looming nature that he wondered what it would be like to live there. Then promptly remembered what he’d noticed the day before. 

He looked over to the Casa de Sparklez. It looked homey and modest against the sprawl of branches and bark. Sure, it seemed insignificant at first glance, but it was simple. Nice.

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

Hadn’t it also been destroyed? Now that Wag thought about it, the last he’d seen of it before Ruxomar was a pile of ash and suspended ruins. How was it in this condition? Fixed?

Was it Ianite, again?

How many of Jordan’s homes ended in ash?

This was definitely not the reason he was making his way up. He had to focus. Focus! Ask Jordan about Martha and Spark. Easy.

Instead of making his way to the Tree right away, Wag stopped to knock on the de Sparklez door. There was a beat of silence. Did he assume wrong? Was Jordan actually living in the Tree?

Then he heard footsteps. Quiet and uncertain, but there. A flash of movement through the windows. Then the lock was turned and the door swung open.

One Mr. Captain Sparklez in the flesh.

“Hey, Wag,” Jordan drew the words out. “What brings you to the good ol’ Casa de Sparklez and not-” He looked over to Jerry’s Tree. “-my house.”

Wag offered him a smile. “I had a hunch you’d be here.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow but motioned him in regardless. The interior looked the same from the few times he’d been inside. Birch and quartz, sleek and stylish.

“How have you been, Wag?” As Jordan spoke up Wag turned to look at him. He seemed like he was in good health.

“I’ve been... better. But I’m doing better than I was, I think.” Wag could be honest with Jordan. He was pretty sure. Jordan, among all the heroes, was least likely to judge him for having issues. Ianitee and preserving balance and all.

They wandered over to Jordan’s couches where Wag declined any food or drink. “That’s good. Always good to be better, y’know, since we’re all finally getting a chance to relax.”

“Now,” Wag put his arm on the back of the couch, “I wouldn’t say that. Say it too much and things will turn south again.”

“Oh, believe me, it’ll turn south again. It always does.”

“Well that’s quite the vote of confidence in us.”

Jordan snorted. “It’s not a lack of confidence in us, it's a lack of confidence in the universe! Who’s to say that we won’t have another World Historian show up? Or another Shadows?”

Wow, speaking of Shadows.

“Gee, and here I thought I was the downer.” 

Jordan laughed, shaking his head. “Only a little,” He rubbed his legs. “I’ve been using our downtime to get myself resettled, re-setup. To get back to,” A wave of his hands. “Normal? How things used to be? I’m not sure, yet.”

“Is that why you’re living here?” Wag bit back the _‘because it feels more like home, here?’_.

He received a shrug in response. “It’s easier to get in here than to wander through the tree.”

Either that was a flimsy excuse or Wag was reading too deep into this. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was. All he’d done recently was think and talk deep. Better catch himself now before he gets ahead of himself.

“So,” He pushed his thoughts to the side, “Ignoring the fact that there’s elevators in the tree, how’d you manage to get this place back in shape?”

Jordan looked away for a moment. “It took a lot of time and resources. Needed to get all that wood and quartz back, y'know? But it gave me a reason to avoid Spark, and it gave me time to… think.”

“About?”

He turned his gaze towards Jerry’s Tree, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “About how much things have really changed, and how much they haven’t.”

Well, Wag was no stranger to this topic. He was a little tired of it. “How haven’t they changed? Seems like more and more things are growing and becoming different. Nothing feels the same.”

Jordan was quiet for a minute. He was steadily getting out of his comfort zone here. “Well, there’s a lot of constants. We’re in the same world, with the same people, with the same ideas of who we are. I know I follow Ianite, I know I stand for balance, and no matter how much Spark tries to tell me I’m doing it wrong, I know what my role is as Ianite’s champion.”

“Sure, the,” he waves a hand towards the window, to the tree, to the countryside, “ _everything_ , has changed. The tree got bigger and better and less like I remember, and there's new people and a whole, real village here, rather than the strange village-folk from before. And, yeah, it’s weird having the people from the last world among us, but we know them. We know us. Even when things change it's still-”

Jordan locked eyes with Wag.

“Us.”

Yeah. He was right. Everything was changing, as everything would. But in the end, after everything has evolved and adapted and become something new, what’s left?

Us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this chapter before I found out that Martha is poly, so I had to quick add some bits in here to align with that. Not too big of a change, just added like, three sentences.
> 
> A lot of these early chapters are going to be a long trek through set up and exposition before any real Sparklington kicks in. But I love doing worldbuilding! It's fun :D


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wag finds his way to Jordan, who leads him to Spark, who gets him to Martha. It's not all smooth sailing, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Kept forgetting to post the chapter haha ^^)

“So, did you actually come to talk, or did you need something from me?” Jordan was looking towards the town now, legs crossed. With his arms splayed across the back of the couch, chin up, he looked like the perfect picture of nonchalance.

Wag knew that that was far from correct.

However, he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, drawing Jordan’s eye. “Well, I did actually come to see if you knew where Martha was, and if not Martha, Spark.”

Jordan gave him a thoughtful frown.

“Not that I didn’t want to talk to you,” Wag added in, “It’s just that I really need to see Martha. Rip the bandage off as soon as possible. I’m, uh. Breaking up with her.”

Jordan’s face crumpled into a harsh discomfort, like someone had just doused his socks in water and told him all his other socks were missing.

“Ah. That’s. Unfortunate?” He winces. “I’m sorry about your loss. Eventual loss. Yeah.”

Wag shook his head, a smile playing at his lips. “She’s not dying, Jordan. I just realised that we- well, it didn’t matter what I realised. We’re better as just friends, if she’s okay with that.”

Jordan nodded, lips pinched together. “I’m afraid I don’t recall where she was going today. Spark, however, should be at Town Hall handling some paperwork. She might be with him, might not. I’d ask him.”

Getting up with a stretch, Wag replied, “Thanks. The faster I do this the better.”

Jordan stood as well, following Wag to the front door. They stood there. Wag shuffled his feet. “I, uh. I’m not sure where the Town Hall is. Could you show me?”

He had a fair idea, but not a sure one. The Town Hall was a building Wag often forgot about. But not because he didn't care to commit it to memory.

To start, it looked like all the other buildings around it. Acacia based, a foundation of sandstone that peaked up from below the ground, and an easy, sloped thatch roof. It gave the buildings a log cabin feel, while still fitting in with the landscape. The edges were built with acacia logs to bring in a nice neutral gray which held it all together.

Now, if it just looked like every other building that’d be fine. But it also had no marker to identify it as Town Hall. Or, rather, the marker it had was easily mistaken for something else- an open book with a quill. For example, it could be the symbol for a courthouse, or the symbol for a law firm. Or the Records Hall.

Wag didn’t know where the Records Hall was either.

Add in the fact that no one really went in there since the majority of citizens specialized in fishing and you have a place that is forgettable at best.

That being said, Wag would rather have some company on his death march to breaking up with Martha. Using his unsureness of where, exactly, the Town Hall was would be a good excuse to keep talking to Jordan. At the least, it would help with his nerves.

Jordan looked off to the side. “Isn’t it right next to-” He cut off. Thought for a second. “Yeah, it’d be better to just show you.”

Wag smiled. He swept his hand towards the path and gave Jordan a shallow bow. “After you, my dear.”

Shaking his head, Jordan began to lead the way, Wag trailing along just behind his shoulder.

They descended the hill in comfortable silence. Jordan was clearly thinking about something, looking for a good moment to bring it up. Wag welcomed the change from thinking about his future.

He side-eyed him. “Got something on your mind, my good fellow? Want to talk more about how the world has it out for us?”

Jordan rolled his eyes. “No, I think that’s enough of that depressing topic for now.” A beat of silence. “I was just thinking-”

“You’ve got to be careful with that.”

“-Thinking about Tom.”

Wag gasped. “Thinking about another man while we take such a romantic stroll together? How dare you.”

“Yes, walking over to the Town Hall so you can talk to the man who looks like an older version of me and has a superiority complex is so romantic” Jordan wrinkled his nose. It’s not like he’d know much about romantic. Between Jordan and anyone else that was ever interested in him, the other had done more work. Jordan’s idea of romance was probably ‘let’s build some complex contraption together’.

“We could always detour,” Wag suggested, lightly elbowing Jordan’s arm. “Take it across the beach, pick up shells that we’d think the other would like, hold hands and go barefoot to walk in the waves. Call it a date.”

“I beach you it’d be a good time, but I’ll have to wave the idea off. I do have things I want to get done today.” Jordan turned to him with a glimmer in his eyes and a bashful, yet impish smile.

“Wow.” Wag blinked a few times. “That was forced and you know it. ‘I beach you’?” He fake gagged. “So cheesy.”

Jordan turned away with a huff.

Wait.

“Oh, my gosh, wave was also a pun. That was a double pun. I don’t know whether to be impressed or appalled.”

“Thank you, I’ll be taking cash donations for my genius.”

“I’ll be taking cash compensation for having to hear that with my own two ears.”

Jordan laughed, a lovely, quiet sound. It was breathy, and just off of squeaky, but it made Wag’s ears burn.

Weird.

“I’m afraid,” Jordan followed up, “That we have a no refund policy. Once heard you can’t get your investment back. It was on page 8 of the contract you signed upon meeting me: ‘You accept any and all amazing, lovely puns that come out of Jordan’s mouth.’”

“Wow. 8 pages? I don’t remember 8 pages. What I remember was, ‘Hello, I am most likely going to be inside, at home, for most of our friendship. And this is to say I’m not avoiding you, I’m preparing the most intricate, strong things imaginable for when shit inevitably goes to hell.’ That’s not even a page, it was a sheet of paper torn in half.” Was that overly accurate about Jordan? No. But the dig was worth it.

Jordan shook his head, indignant, “I don’t stay inside that much! How dare you assume I’d be able to stay cooped up inside for so long. Clearly, if you wanted to be precise, I would have written ‘I’ll most likely be working on cool and awesome things that make me super prepared to help My Lady in any way possible.’ Inside versus outside means nothing in that regard.”

“Ah, my bad. Let me rephrase that, ‘I am so loyal to Ianite and her existence that I will breathe balance, eat balance, and become balance. People will look at me and think ‘Wow, that guy sure is the epitome of balance. Almost enough to rival Ianite herself.’, except I’ll just look cool and be a good champion.”

“Ok, ok, let’s back up here.” Jordan turned to look at Wag. To look up at Wag, more specifically. Shorty. “Going that far makes me sound like Spark, and I am nowhere near as bad as him. Like, c’mon, he was so dedicated to Ianite he married her.”

They were in front of the Town Hall now.

Jordan lowered his voice, like Spark could hear him. “He honestly needs a hobby.”

Wag shook his head, stifling a laugh.

“Well,” Jordan’s voice rose back to a regular volume. “Looks like we’re here.”

“Looks so.”

They stalled for a second.

“I better get going,” Jordan started. “If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. I’ll help you with anything.” He side-eyed Wag, a joking look in his eye. “As long as it’s reasonable.”

“That means a lot to me.” Wag smiled. “I promise that my next visit will actually be for you. It’s only fair, especially since you’re a dear friend of mine.”

With a huff and a returned smile, Jordan pushed him along. “You don’t have to promise that.”

“I want to. Since it’s you.”

Wag turned and began walking up the steps into the building.

Jordan felt his heart beat just a little faster. He tried to convince himself that that didn’t mean as much to him as his heart said.

It really wasn’t that deep.

\---

The Town Hall was one of the first non-residential buildings placed in the town. In the time that they’d all been gone, there had been some remodelling to the valley.

The first, most prominent, in Wag’s opinion, change was the removal of the Dianite statue head thing. If it was still there, Wag would not have built his tower right next to that. No siree. 

The rest of the changes were fairly mild: the paths around were fiddled with to give access to the beach and town buildings, the farms were cleaned up, and so on.

Now, the Town Hall was delicately placed between the farms and the Tea Pot. The Tea Pot which was left standing. In all the revisions that were made to the land, someone looked at the Tea Pot, looked at the space it took up, and decided it should remain.

There was a goddamn Tea Pot next to Town Hall.

And Wag still struggled to remember where the Town Hall was.

Needless to say, Wag head inside, giving a wave to the secretary. While there was no official “Mayor” of the town, there was a general administrative body made up of some of the townsfolk. It was a democratic setup, which leaned towards a more free-market, socialist style of living.

Quite the turn around from Ruxomar.

Spark, it seemed, had either learned from the eventual disaster that was Ruxomar- not that he was there to see its final collapse- or wanted a change of pace, seeing as he founded Dagrun under a monarchy. To be fair, there weren’t many people around to start a kingdom.

After Wag exchanged conversation with the secretary and was waved towards the back, he found Spark. His office was small with a full window alongside one wall and a desk with neatly organized papers set up in multiple stacks. He sat behind the desk, pondering over a sheet laid before him, reading it with careful eyes.

He looked up at Wag’s entrance, a polite smile forming on his face. “What brings my daughter’s favorite wizard around today?” Spark stood, moving around the desk to offer a handshake in greeting.

“Oh, only Martha’s? Not yours?” He took the hand, trying to give a firm shake despite his nerves. “I came here to see if you knew of Martha’s whereabouts. I have something I need to talk to her about.”

Spark took a step back. “Ah, she just stepped out to grab some records from the Record Hall. She’ll be a few minutes at least.” He moved back to his desk, motioning for Wag to sit in one of the guest chairs.

Wag sank into it quickly.

If Spark could see he was nervous, he said nothing. But Wag was sure it radiated off of him, from the way his fingers drummed against his legs, to how he would look at the door every so often, to how he kept shifting in his chair. He’d thought the walk and quiet pondering over the town’s brief history would help.

It didn’t.

Still, they sat in silence. Outward silence. His thoughts fought to be heard, to break out from the delicate prison he’d pushed them into when he steeled himself to potentially see Martha here, next to Spark.

“Can I ask you something?” Wag blurted out. Spark looked up. “If you’re- if you’re not busy, that is.”

He set aside his pen- something he’d carried from Ruxomar- and gave him an inviting wave.

“What’s the difference between loving someone and being devoted to them?”

Wag bit his lip as Spark mulled over an answer.

“That depends,” he said, after a moment. “What kind of love and what kind of devotion?”

Wag could see in his eyes that Spark knew what he meant, but was giving him space to elaborate on his issue.

_ He has to know, right? What I’m about to do. _

“Devotion to,” Wag took a breath, “To your goddess versus the love you have for her.”

Spark stretched and sat back in his seat, relaxed. “It’s based in different things. Devotion is based on a shared belief, a shared idea. I followed,” Spark swallowed hard, “My goddess because I, too, believed in the balance she stood for, and the peace it upheld.”

He swiveled the chair half-way around to gaze out the window. “I loved her because of who she was. Her laugh, her smile, her energy and joy and spirit and how she’d get that sparkle in her eye when she’d see me, a mix between something soft and something loving and-”

He clears his throat, clearly holding back emotion. “I loved her because she was everything right in the world. In my world.”

Wag did not mean to open up something this heavy for Spark. But he wasn’t done with his questions.

“Did being in a relationship affect how you followed her?” He shoved his hands underneath his thighs to stop from fidgeting.

“Yes. And no.” Taking a moment to compose himself, Spark swept his eyes across the landscape, the solid silhouette of Jerry’s Tree in the background. “After getting together, I was devoted to her in the sense of any typical boyfriend; I doted on her, did romantic things with her, the whole shebang. In terms of being her follower and champion, I knew when to be professional and to act upon our shared belief system. It took practice to not let one bleed into the other, but I made it work.”

Though Spark wasn’t looking, Wag nodded.

“How.” He cleared his throat. “What would be the best way to... separate that? To pull apart your devotion and your relationship so they don’t affect each other?”

Spark turned back to him, his figure highlighted by the glow from outdoors, creating a regal picture of a tired, broken old man. “Separate them? You don’t. You can’t. It’s impossibly hard to have the maturity to stop your feelings from changing how one part of your relationship goes.” 

“To be a lover means to be ready to defend your partner at all costs, just as you would a champion. To be a champion means to love your goddess to the ends of the world, just as you would a lover. Devotion and love are centered from different places, but once your feelings in them cross they cannot be unlinked.”

“But they’re not the same.” Now Spark was starting to get confusing and muddled to Wag. “

You just said so! Loving someone can come in different forms. You can love your goddess and not be in love with her.”

“But you still love her, regardless of which side you love through. Champion, partner, it's all love. If you let them slide together, they die together. What’s the difference? What creates that gap?” Spark had a glint in his eyes, now, something removed from the quiet, tender sadness from before.

“There’s a big difference!” Wag freed his hands to gesture wildly. “To love your partner is to cherish every moment with them, to be apart and still, somewhere in the back of your mind, be thinking of them. You see sweets, or goodies, or just nice things and think about if they’d like them, or you see the soft purple of lilac and think of their hair, or wander past a library and think of spells and sitting up late at night pouring through books. Or-”

He threw his arms up. “Loving your goddess is different, I think. I’ve never followed one before this. I followed a god without any care for that god. I didn’t even really follow him, we followed something adjacent to him.”

“And,” Wag breathed, “loving your goddess is like seeing the value in what they preach. Like.” He was frustrated now. Didn’t he just tell him that love and devotion came from different things? If that was the case, how did being a champion in a relationship with your goddess stop that from being different things? “Like how you devote yourself to an idea!”

Spark raised an eyebrow. “So? You devoted yourself to the idea of being in a relationship with her, you crossed that divide and filled it in.”

“But I didn’t! I just built a bridge over it and tried to figure out which side I was on.”

“Which side are you on?”

“I don’t know!” Wag was starting to breathe heavily. It was like every moment he had built up his confidence to cut it off with Martha was being uprooted like grass in a plowed field. “I just don’t want to be in the middle anymore.”

Spark watched him silently. He wasn’t going to give Wag a break this time.

“It’s terrible.” Wag continued, quieter. “Being stuck between the desire to stick by her side and protect her and the desire to be right beside her and love her, and hold her, and be the one person who can always make her laugh.”

He looked away, towards a wall with an older oil painting. “But that’s the thing. I don’t have to choose. We chose on our own without knowing. We drifted away, lost to our own problems and grief. The bridge back to her side is broken and torn and I don’t think I have the strength left in me to repair it.”

“Don’t have the strength, or are scared to?”

“Both! Neither? Fuck, I just.” Wag shook his head, trying to rattle his thoughts enough to make sense. “I can’t promise that if I do fix things they won't break again, weather down and fall away under my negligence. And I’m afraid of what would happen if I let things get that bad again.”

“Fear is natural.” Spark eyed him up and down. “But you can’t let it get in the way of your life.”

“It’s not. I swear it isn’t. But we feel fear for a reason and that’s to stop us from making poor decisions.”

“But sometimes fear is a knee-jerk reaction, what you feel when you’re uncertain or when things change around you and you’re not ready for it.”

“I’m not,” Wag whispered. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder. “I’m not ready for change. And that’s ok. It’d be better to take a step back and see what I need to do to be ready and to adapt, rather than to try and go arm deep into whatever mess comes my way because I’m afraid of losing everything I love.”

“Even if that means losing your relationship with Martha?”

“I’d rather be friends than nothing at all.” And that was the truth. For all he cared about her romantically, he also cared about her as a friend. As someone who’d been through hell and back with her. You don’t just leave people like that behind.

Spark nodded. “Then you know what you need to do.”

Now that wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. “Wait.”  _ Did I just get lead on?  _ “Was that whole conversation just a way to make me figure my shit out?”

“I wouldn’t say it like that,” Spark was smoothing out the papers on his desk. “But yes, I did pull the conversation in a way that made you think about your decision. I wouldn’t contradict my own words without purpose.”

“I doubt anyone does.” Wag rolled his eyes. “So you approve? Of me choosing to break up with Martha?”

Spark looked up at Wag, already having grabbed his pen. There was a beat of silence. Wag started to sweat.

_ After all of that, surely he does? _

Silence.

_ Right? _

He felt like a kid that got sent to the principal’s office. Getting stared down by the head honcho that doesn’t want to see you in front of them but also doesn’t want to let you off easy.

Still, he was scrutinized.

_ Holy shit man. _

Finally- finally!- Spark looked back down.

“I’m impartial,” he said at last. “To be honest, it’s not my issue. While I do want the best for my daughter, she is a grown woman. You are a grown man. My approval shouldn’t matter here.”

Wag relaxed. He had a point.

Spark shook his head, signing off on a document and moving it aside. “I had the same doubts about my relationships when I was your age. That was before-” he coughed. “-you know, and when I still fancied this lovely lady from my hometown. We’d been going strong for a while, but I was dedicated to my faith and she was not interested in faith at all.”

He  _ tsked _ . “We wouldn’t have worked out at all, no matter how much I cared for her. Still kept in touch until,” Spark gave a pointed look around, “This happened.”

“Okay, grandpa.” Ah, yes, he definitely wanted to hear about Spark’s love life.

A thought struck him.

“Now wait a second, when you were ‘my age’?” Wag glanced over Spark. “I’m older than you.”

Spark chuckled. “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m sure we can both see I’m older than you.” He tilted his head to the side. “See that gray? That’s age and stress. Enjoy your youth while you have it.

“I’m a wizard.”

A narrowing of the eyes.

“I’ve been a wizard.”

He sat back in his chair.

“I’ve been a wizard for  _ a long time.” _

Spark turned his gaze back to his documents. “You must be pulling my leg.”

“No, sir, I am not.” Wag was fidgeting again, this time bored. “I think I’m a little over a century old? Maybe more.”

“I can understand you being a wizard, but there’s no way minor magic-  _ non-divine _ magic- could extend your life.”

“I killed a god to become a wizard.”

Wag stared Spark down with a straight deadpan. Spark’s mouth worked at a response.

He’d never get one.

“So I didn’t find any proof of purchase document for Lichens- ah, hello Wag.” Martha stopped dead in the doorway, face stuck between surprised, pleasant, and a flicker of discomfort. “To what do we owe the pleasure of a visit?”

Well. It seemed Martha found him.

Now that they were both staring at him, Wag felt far too exposed. He tugged at his hood. It was already as low as it could go on his head. That didn’t make him feel any better.

So he opted for a smile instead. “I needed to talk to you about something Martha.”

She exchanged a glance with Spark, who had a thoughtful look in his eyes. It was the kind of look that said they’d talked about him before. And, based on the look he gave Wag in turn, it was not a very positive kind of talking.

Oh dear fuck.

Martha gave him a shy smile. “Can it wait? I need to wrap this up real fast. Then, after that, I should be free for a bit.”

It couldn’t. If it did, it would never happen. Wag knew it wouldn’t. From the way his heart stuttered to the way his hands shook, he knew that if he gave himself the time to back out he’d take it. And as much as he didn’t want to make an ass out of himself by saying no, wouldn’t trapping them both in this be worse? Keeping the two of them together to pretend that things were going well?

No, it couldn’t wait.

The words, however, stuck in his throat. He shook his head. Took a breath. “I’m sorry, it really can’t.”

Martha took it in stride. “Alright. This must be important to you, let me set this down and I’ll be right out.” She motioned him to wait outside the door.

Wag took the opportunity. Once safely in the hallway, alone, he ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

_ Calm down. _

It wasn’t like he was signing his life away. Or like he was telling Martha he killed her dad. They were just breaking up.

But it felt like it was more than that. It felt like he was betraying her, like all those promises he made were for nothing. Hadn’t he said he’d follow her to the end of the line? That he’d be her champion? What would become of that if he broke up with her?

Where did devotion and love meet and where did they separate?

Wag wasn’t sure anyone knew. It was a challenge to be in love with a goddess.

The sound of the door swinging open caught his attention. Martha stepped out, smoothing her shirt out. She caught his eye and sent him a smile. He gave a shaky one back.

“Gee, Waggles,” That nickname hit something soft in his chest, “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were going to break up with me.”

_ Fucking shit. _

He sat silent as his mind fell down a flight of stairs.

Martha caught on. “You, you are, aren’t you?”

Her eyes were wide, now, and Wag wasn’t sure how to follow that up. This was not going as he’d planned. Except, he hadn’t really planned it so much as made a vague idea about how he was going to.

_ Get your shit together man, now's the time. _

“Yes.” His voice strained and he cleared his throat. “I am.”

Before she could get in a word, he pushed onward. “And it’s not because I don’t love you. I do. I love you so, so much. I’d follow you to the ends of the world, spread your name as your champion until my voice ran out, I would-” He stopped himself. This was supposed to be a break up. “I would do a lot for you.”

He took a deep breath.

“But I’m not what you need.”

His heart was free falling, bouncing between his hard and fast love for Martha and his desire to be loved. Between knowing they weren’t good for each other- not anymore- and wishing that they could be.

“What are you talking about?” Martha’s voice, though she kept her volume level, was thick with emotion. “Of course you are. I love you so much Wag, what would I do without you?”

“I’m not!” He swallowed heavily. “You don’t love me the same. I don’t love you the same. Haven’t you seen it? How we never see each other? How we can’t be around each other without walking on eggshells? How it feels like there’s someone missing that I could never replace?”

Martha had loved Steve so much. And she’d loved Wag. But after everything, he’d realized that they’d grown apart. That for all they loved each other, they didn’t.

Wag took a brave moment to look Martha in the eyes. Her tears were held back by pure willpower and rapid blinking. Her mouth was set in a thin line. For all she was trying to keep her cool it was breaking at the seams.

She was quiet. Wag could practically feel the storm of thought and emotion rolling off of her. A whisper. “You’re right.”

He held his breath.

“You’re right. You can’t replace him. No one can. But you don’t have to. Why can’t I just love you and him both? What’s wrong about that?”

No, no, no. That wasn’t his point at all.

“You can.” His voice was just as low. “Of course you can, there’s nothing wrong with that. But you’re letting your love for him get in the way of us. Your grief, your longing, your bone deep aching for him is all you see when you’re with me, isn’t it?”

“No!” Martha looked away. “Yes. Kind of. No. I don’t look at you and see Steve. I look at you and see you and I think about how much it would hurt to lose you. Like I lost Steve. How much you mean to me, how much he meant to me.”

She had closed her eyes now, putting her hand over her mouth.

“I miss him so much. Sometimes it’s all I can think about. There are days were I long to go home and see him, to be able to hold him again. But I remember that he’s not there. The thought of going home without him feels awful.”

Wag was torn, again. He felt awful to make Martha talk about this, to make her relive every time she missed Steve, mourned Steve. But on the other, this was where they were falling apart.

“I’m not innocent in this, I must admit.” He started slowly. She looked back at him, tears on the verge of falling. “I feel like I’ve lost everything. My old life, my fellow wizards, the world I used to know.” Wag couldn’t meet her eyes on the next sentence. “My powers. They haven’t come back.”

“And I’ve drawn away from everyone and everything. Even you. And as easy as it would be to blame you for us falling apart, that’s not fair to you or to your grief. But we can’t keep killing ourselves like this.”

Martha had wrapped her arms around herself now. She pushed her chin up. “You’re right. Again. This dance we’ve been performing, it’s gone on long enough hasn’t it?” A wet laugh. “We can fix this now, fix,” she gestured between them, “Us. Now that we’ve pulled the facade away. That’s the first step, right? Taking down the act.”

Wag shook his head. He wanted to. So badly. To let this be the start of something better, to remake what they had. But the roots were rotten, not just the tree. Even if they cut off every dead branch, they’d only die out again.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m not ready to try again.” His voice wavered. If he could cry he would.

All he had were tears of blood, ever streaming.

She was quiet. Then she bowed her head. “I understand. And I’d need time, too, if we were to try again.”

The conversation fell off, but it didn’t feel resolved. Wag pushed up the energy to ask one last question.

“Will I- will I still be your champion?” It was a dangerous question. And yet, still not the one he needed to ask.

Martha appraised him. “I don’t know. I’m not sure how to deal with my champion being a recent ex.” Nonetheless, she gave him a watery smile. “I’ll let you know when I make a decision.”

Wag nodded. Already, she was piecing herself back together. Faster than he ever could.

She went to turn away, opening her mouth to say one last thing, but Wag interrupted her. “Will we still be friends after this?”

A laugh, real this time. “Of course.” She shook her head fondly. “Goodbye Wag. Until we meet again.”

“Until we meet again.”

Martha made her way back inside, most likely about to tell Spark the news.

He felt detached from the world, thoughts echoing farther and farther away with each step Martha took. His eyes tracked her, watching how her hair moved, the grace in her stride- even has her body shook with hurt. Her neatly pressed and clean clothes, changed up from what she had worn in Ruxomar. A breathable, white silk long-sleeved shirt and dark leggings.

From the way her fingers curved in an elegant arch against her thighs to how her shoulders had slumped ever so slightly before the door closed behind her. In his head he could see her eyes sparkling, a lovely lavender to match her hair. He could hear her laugh, her voice, see her radiant smile that he always sought to draw out.

Wag could feel the floor disappear out from under him, feel himself sinking into the void. Empty, empty, empty. A chapter of his life was over, now. And it was by his own hand. For all he had feared change, he had caused it.

Was this better or worse?

A quiet, muted  _ drip _ caught his attention. The world blurred back in. Wag looked down. A tiny, pink-ish speck on the floor. Another joined it with a  _ plop _ . A shaking hand rose to his cheeks. Still bloody, but when he pulled it away it was also pink-ish. Runnier.

Tears.

He wanted to laugh. Instead, he strode out of the Town Hall, finding the familiar path home in a daze. A pink trail of bloody tears followed him.

He was going to miss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been in a relationship with any sort of dramatic breakup. It was always "Hey, can we just be friends instead?" and I was like "Yeah, I'm down." So I apologize if it feels like I ramped up the drama on this. But I wanted to show that it had impact! That changing for the better means making hard, painful choices sometimes!


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